Pull the sheets over your head,

the taffeta of dream cloaks you.

Tiny legs delicate fangs erode you.

To the same hours you stare

like a clock into its beginning.

If you want, turn on the light.

At the same time,

talk to me through

veils. Thorax swells

with hard glee

to remember a buttoned tree.

Hard to sew on new trousers.

The escaped world

has saved us front

seats for an epoch.