them bones

i see the bone

of her arm in my sleep.
i hear

the rustle
of limbs, like branches
of trees.

the shuffle
from bed to door, then

out.

i see the darkness of her

in my watered dream.
the shock

of old.
the shiver of cold.

the slack of her jaw,
the grey
tombstones
of teeth.

i smell what is deceased.

and when i awaken
on the sweet iced island

of bed, the unruffled
sheets.

i sigh loudly.
i breathe.