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Sally Houtman
Why I don’t sleep
There are tiny fingers
inside my clock
which gently pull
the moments forward,
and, I am sure,
inside as well, a pair
of tiny feet which tap
and rattle through the night.
But I, wide-eyed at 2 a.m.
do not ask why, just simply
turn over finding comfort
in the knowing of the knowing
that if time can’t sleep
then why should I.
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