I woke up last night with a fever and sore throat, so I’m penning from bed tonight, on my phone. Poor hp has been taking care of me all day. I’m going to do this fat and then take cold medicine and go to sleep.
In the fever dream everyone is lost to me, and I have to hurdle branches in the dark, fast and stricken, to find you. Get this shuddering nightmare gone, where are you in the dark wood? For a brief moment the comforter breaks through, and the mountain blanks back where it came from and you are all found, and I cling to the sheets, sweating fear.
Ugh. Whatever. Happy Sunday, poem friends.