Frances McCue

 

 

 

THE WISH, THE WILL

 

Tiny pill, Iíll leave you on my nightstand
in favor of the cave Iíve lit
with books tumbled from the unmanned
boat. Unroll now, sleepy fist,
wipe the spittle from the glare. More bland
than we could hope, this
little joke of sleep might whistle clean
all the tiny nerves that make us dream.

     

Copyright © 2004 Frances McCue.  All Rights Reserved.

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