I will not turn on the light
as beside me she sleeps still.
Unstill I lie, reading lines
written onto the pages of night.
Projected there is darkness spelled in verse
lit from within by the light of memory.
I read, from a continuous scroll of poetic refrains,
a story of life without rhyme or form
flickering as if it were something old
unknown, without meter, beginning or end –
edited solely for the life of dreams.

Portland, Oregon – June 4, 2019