Shhhhh

who’s asleep? everyone.
shhhhhhhh. don’t wake
everyone up.

everyone’s asleep. you can hear
mechanical things. power, water,
heat —

but bend closer (shhh) to hear
what awakens when everyone is asleep:

shades walking step-in-time
to all the breathing. shh — you’ll
see them, perhaps. they’re thin

and pale, sometimes one is
grey or pink but most are sheer
and white.

they are commuting home
from their jobs — moving the fulcrums
and tipping the levers that make
everyday things happen:
falling in love, screaming
at the boss, pool in a semi-dive bar,
test driving vans, counseling children,
daring to eat from a street vendor’s stall.

they swirl away from everyone,
undulating, rising from the ground
once they’ve stepped past the sleeping
bodies, slipping through windows
and under doors.

you see that one hangs back.

she gestures to you.

who are you now
that she should want you —
are you another power like her
escaping from servitude? are you
a spy who’s caught a glimpse
of something unheard of till now?

tomorrow morning
they’ll all clock back in,
slip into their assigned bodies
and then everyone
will wake up and go back to work

except for you and her. you’ll
stay with her and find out
where she belongs, her real name,
how this all started —

shhh. you have only so much time to work
on this. don’t wake up. everyone
will want to know
if they see you’ve figured it out.