by Lana Hechtman Ayers.
An evergreen army surrounds our house,
sky a white that belies night.
Air tastes bitter green as grass,
damp on the tongues of my skin.
A vinegar wind ripples the moon’s
all too fragile halo.
Sour sax notes of hound dog’s howls
jolt from a neighbor’s yard.
These early late hours
must make it hard for rabbits to sleep.
Or do rabbits sleep only in our dreams?
What if we never ever sleep?