Fever dreams without the sleep.
Some days are just made for
dragging knuckles across concrete.

Walk the city for hours only to
collapse in a heap on
the rug where we wipe our feet
when we come home at night.

Leave on my shoes, coat, and backpack.
Stare straight ahead into the dark,
lying on my belly.

For hours I gasp for air.

My husband gets home and helps me into bed.
I sleep only partially and
wake up regularly to reach out into the night.
Press my palm against his shoulder and
my feet into the curve of the back of his knees.

Breathe.