Dawn Mumble

You stole all the blankets,
I find, and then
you’re up at the crack of six
(Isn’t that some kind of sin?
One of the small ones?)

And you chat with me.
Sweet husband,
sweet foolish husband.

I’m not awake,
though I may mumble,
I’m not awake;
I’m in limbo.
I won’t remember you
telling me
to change the laundry.

Sweet foolish one,
once you’re out the door,
sleep swallows me back.

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