Glide

It's quiet,
I can hear myself.
The milk flows down,
my throat eases,
inviting the nectar.
It's presence is needed.

My toes stay cold,
they seem distant,
distant from my breathing body.

The dogs bark,
in the nightless distance.
I wait,
for the noise
that will eventually come.
Maybe sleep will win
this battle,
against the quiet,


It's quiet now,
I can hear myself again.