To the maniacal impulse in my sleeping mind,
stirring up dreams like muck in otherwise clean water,
I know more than you.
I know streams flow on to meet rivers and oceans.
That this little eddy of sleep, turning me still where I am,
water rolled back in on itself, trapped in perpetual tumble.
It is worse to know the distance it traveled.
The deep salty destination to which all tributaries eventually contribute.
Spinning behind this solid submerged rock,
stuck waking up anxious to grinding in my gut,
sad angry words for the woman awake beside me,
about how there is a mirror haunting my dreams.