I watch your sleeping,
the formline of defeat and relaxation,
a collapse into non-effort
while the breathing is all that remains
and I wish you could share.
Where are the hidden places that itch?
Where does the sand in your days
touch the soft flesh of your inner skin?
What tears secrete around this pain?
What kinds of pearls are forming?
Will there be a day
where we can break out
in thoughtful abandon
to let the pearls catch light?