A tangle of hair come loose from your head,
ensnared by the pillow. Skin cells embedded
in the sheets. A dot of blood from scratching
fleabites in your sleep. Elixir of sweat
soaked into mattress. Longing for your spouse
who’s turned from your flesh in search of coolness.

A scattering of dreams shook loose during
the sleep cycle, marbles spilled from a jar;
they’ve rolled everywhere, beyond your sight,
can’t be recaptured or contained. When you
try to turn your ear toward their music,
they have disappeared. You hear no sound, not
even an echo. Unmake and remake
the bed, search bedclothes, run fingers over
the pillowcases, trying to read their
braille, but they’ve departed to wherever
dreams go when they are forgotten, unclaimed.

At night, when you turn down the lamp, pull back
the comforter, you’re shocked to find the sheets
still occupied, pillowslip creased by your
face, spouse nuzzling into your neck, no
longer fitful, sweaty. Your feet tangled
against footboard, scrabbling like dogs dreaming.