Insomnia Song

Late. Or early.

Instead of sleeping

My mind spins

Stacking emails and notes and words

In heavy stacks

A shipyard of

Empty boxcars

Secret virtual

Storage cubes;

Baby is restless, too

Fan blades hum in the dark

All the fireworks have gone quiet

And sleep is on holiday

Somewhere hot

Somewhere sunny

Feeling the sand between her toes.

I am counting boxcars.

Recalling words.

Wondering if you could possibly be

Real.