Rich Thompson | moonlight, the serious moonlight

all things are in themselves and incomplete

my wife is still my own and someone else

my life is still my own and something else

my dreams are still my own and someone else’s

dreams are different things. you shake

two packs of sugar out into your

coffee. no one else will feel the paper

in your hands or taste the creamer. no

one else is walking down the road, the

night air clean, the passing lights are

passing no one else. each of the 47

windows lighted by a different nightmare.

at most you’ll hear some

muffled pacing, no one else-