Bless the bed that does not
complain about my heft
or my squirreling under covers
to burrow into sleep, an acreage
adjacent to the moon
and other citizens of the dark.

In the hours of trust and silence
a dizziness in my inner ear
rights itself, free of the noise
from news of guns and quakes, the din
of the now-known world. Yet,

without voices I'm lost and alone
in the clang of another war, all part
of my own inevitable wade into
the rising clamor of time.