If you accompany me

the lamp across the street

would let me sleep

the end point of this saline night

wouldn’t say: life’s but a tear.

The forest would turn to foam

climbing, climbing naked edges

of a warm and fleeting shore.

No air snakes would be noticed

running down my face

my steps, cured of fright, wouldn’t end

and all would occur, between eyelids

in the city of my holes.