This cold night —
the cars slide downhill,
struggle up.
I’m awake
though I should not be — the bed’s
not yet made.
Warm sheets wait
for my attention.
Pillows, nude
on the floor
without their shrouds, their robes,
call to me:
Come dress us!
Set your dumb poem down
and come now!
We’ll be so
welcoming, we’ll hold you close.
Let us work
to ease you
from your sullen art
into sleep.
You need us.
We are the antidote! Lie
down. Forget.
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Dark Matter 
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