Flowery cotton sheets and
glasses on an antique nightstand.
Piles of thick comforters
and forgotten layers of blankets
kicked to the foot of the bed.
A watch is ticking somewhere.
Muggy thoughts start to swirl into dreams.
The hands of sleep are quiet-soft and winter-heavy
and press souls down into mattresses.
The heater hums its soothing tune
and it smells like toothpaste in the room.
The upstairs neighbors are still up
but the creaky floors wake no one.
Life ceases to be lively
for the hours of night
when the sky is sealed shut
to say, “That’s enough.”