"Thicket" by F. Daniel Rzicznek

Our breathing in sleep neversynchronizes, and in the forest valleybetween each double draw and releasea watchman snuffs his lantern,sinking the hillsidesinto darkness. He does not see usswaying the trees over his land.We cannot be seen.A light that once was a bodyloosens its gleam, dropslike a curtain over our walls,passes through the street.In a rush, the wind's west fistrams our house, rattles blindsand siding until we wake,then dies into ankle-high grass.It's so late.We wonder whois breathing once more—who wokefrom a dream of wavesand wreckage—who triedhard to sleep again.