poems by owen lucas

Over and over I tumble like water
on broken ground, with thoughts that fly
duck and weave — and sleep won't come
so I'm not even going to try.

Every time I miss a winter
day I get a sleepless night.
My days are dark and as I sleep
my room is filled with silent light.

Each day I dream of conversations
cryptic and impossible,
as if my mind were reaching for
a world that's inaccessible

As if I'd wandered down a street
to live there, trapped by sleeping feet.