Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		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. Next Poem
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