Sleep

Terrific silences organized the room

where I slept after your death.

I was terrified to leave it.

I imagined clearly the hallway

on the other side of the door,

narrow, well-lit, and neatly tiled.

I took a pill, arranged the sheets,

and pulled the room up over my shoulders.

Out of breath I woke between doses

to write down those dreams I remembered.

For quite a while, I talked to someone,

winnowing fear and catharsis

from the same few memories.

One hour passed, then another

therapist, a different city, sometimes

I tried not to repeat myself

or insist that my grief was ending.