Lori does not sleep.
Who has the time.
The dog lays on his back.
He scratches the air.
It is eleven-forty-seven.
The new calendar day arrives early.
The dog is black as night
with so many stars he appears grey.
The clock strikes midnight.
Knocks it out in the third round.
The dog is ready for anything.
Anything is fast asleep too.
Lori rolls to the clock-less side of the bed.
Slow sleep embraces her.
copyright © 2023 Kenneth P. Gurney
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