February 1, 2012

Lullaby

The sound machine
by my bed
thumps a phony surf,
deceiving me into sleep,
where slowly
I rise and fall on a cold
winter swell,
feel black riptides
pulling me from below,
wait in the slate-gray water,
shivering
in a wet suit meant
to keep me dry,
an elusive perfection
approaching from afar,
invisible until it arrives.