You’re asleep inside your old guitar.
I float above the room.
Again and again this constant forsaking.
Things shouldn’t be so hard.
Even the wallpipes wail a lean cacophony.
And sleep is a galaxy away.
source note: lines and fragments of lines from Beloved on the Earth: 150 Poems of Grief and Gratitude, Perlman, Cooper, Hart, and Mittlefehldt, editors