Its softness caresses each living being into a coma of perpetual star glazing.
A reverie of dreams keeps me in a state of sleepy drunkenness.
I peer out from under the covers,
sleep touching me like intermitted wipers.
A fog horn calls to me like the inner voice of awareness,
awakening me to the silence,
clearing the debris that lay in the corner of each eye.
I lay listening to nothing,
while hearing it all.