Not daring to reveal
the kind of measurement that wouldn`t let my eyelids
close,
I`d sculpture
Rays of light into the night,
But the moon spreads over with light
through my window crookedly
and not one chisel, anywhere...
I play the game of dialogue with insomnia,
I play the game of without you, but this is
a lie
for the night,
for me.
I can still hope
a gram or two
for sleep...
And through the curtain of my tiredness
I dedicate to you
the Moon
To spread her light straight through your window
only when beside you it is me.