You reach for lullabies, left over
and the slow crawl half whispers
half where your lips ache, float
the way this empty cup still wobbles
will break apart, overloaded
disguised as two steps closer and alone
then fill your arms with its darkness
seeping through, breathing out
not yet an embrace, not yet the mouth
where your fingers end, surrounded
by more and more dirt, a small room
here, there, there, not yet asleep.
