While You Sleep

by Tova Gabrielle
Monday, October 04, 2004

 I can feel the chonch-shell sound of One-thirty-six AM
Not down tight where my tailbone pulses the bed
where you sleep, your eyes covered in cotton lilac, breathing
hard with your back to me; but up here
in glass head echoing like Michelangelo's
chambers between air and ear,
between brain and blood, rushing and whirling like
the tidepools in Oregon we meant to visit but couldn't find.