Everything about her’s

a story, a sense, a set,

a storm of questions and puzzles–

Hope I know what I’m doing,

and if I don’t she’ll teach me.  Lay on the floor

next to her little bed, wondering

what images hop in and out of her

dreams.  Am I one?  Several?

Or none.

More characters and plot positioning,

I read and re-read, then highlight something,

some detail, her smile or lipshape, uppercheek

in my head, but why, the whole story’s

emphasized, highlighted and heralded.

She starts to wake, shaking her head, breathe,

then back to sleep.

I keep listening.

Keep reading.