He sat down and tried

to focus

but couldn't truly

make out the shapes.


Some nights, 

he sleepwalks into streetlit

rooms all over

the planet.

You dream of your best friend's

house - it's a collage,

but you'd swear blind it was the real thing.


Us here, we're confused

like horses kick in thunderstorm stables.

The distant end of every tunnel

is darker than the blue of every night above.