In The Face of Night

Either here or there, I placed
discomfort under the blanket,
folded it like a stack of bread,
put it above the cupboard.
Which of which I will notice
and foremost,      remember
the taste of an alarm heartbeat
the smell of a burning sweat
the sounds of an imaginary tragedy
each and every time
I come to fetch myself
there,
each and every time
I come to knit the dream
there, become a nightmare.

Night,
collecting memories of things
of every misery, human get to
savour, yet it becomes flowers 
yet it becomes prayers 

In the face of night,
fold the blanket like a stack
of bread, put it above the 
cupboard, then pray
for an alarm heartbeat
for a burning sweat
for an imaginary tragedy
to come, and become flowers.



ifd. July 2018.