A stack of turtles sleep atop my dresser
Resting somewhere between peace and panic
Across a page split down the middle
A creek caresses the cricks of their shells
From higher than my vision believed
Trickling washed words and shallow lines
And steadily eroding the space between
A fall of words ricocheted and clawed past the turtles
As to strike my ears if I approached
The layers impatient inside the dresser
Don’t let them get too wet or wordy
Worn words are the hardest to forget
And the coyote never forgets which words pierce
So easily past these paltry layers
But getting dressed is the first step in becoming normal
Again, the coyote comes for the turtles
Crying in the daylight as I lay awake
She must hunger too, I suppose
And what can I do but let her eat
For the bridge between our eyes
Wrings lightning down my brainstem
Those putrid fangs piercing the layers, the shells
The calcified cracks bleeding dreams
From the wayside and I am still
Watching my breath turn to lead
What can I do but count the casualties
And stack the survivors so
That creek runs across the center
Atop the dresser again
Where the turtles sleep