One Arm Dangling #10

I can never sleep, balancing on this precipice. One arm dangling off the edge of my bed. At night I become the tightrope walker. A pendulum Swinging softly keeping my night's time maintaining the balance between the sun and the moon. I watch the shadows move across the room like a magician's hands and the fan of his cards. At night, I can see behind my own eyes and feel the warm stillness of my mouth. I am my own gypsy. My soft velvet bag containing magic silver coins that I rub between my thumb and forefinger It's only then my hands are my own. No longer my mother's routines. At night I am the owner of these flesh angels with many wings.