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Hourglass

Hourglass

 

Sand in the wiry circuits of
night
makes me wake
dry, unsteady.
Someone else.

A drip in the pan,
an exposed nail
scratching the
calloused heel of scattered
images

I go outside
to take breaths,
see the cat creep silently through
the brush,
eyes both vacant and fixed,

not noticing my
ghostly form,
prompting me to question
my awakeness,
my awareness

Exposed, I am riding
on a centimeter
of liminality,
floating
through transparency,

Chewing nervously
the meaninglessness
of dreams
I’ve already
forgotten


Leah resides in Portland, OR and teaches writing at a public high school. She has had her most recent pieces published or forthcoming in Panoplyzine, Soliloquies Anthology, The Raw Art Review, and VoiceCatcher. She is a feminist, gardener, yogi, sound healer, and world traveler. You can find her at www.OpalMoonAttunement.com.