Night Terrors

Some nights,

a dream leaves

its door open,

and I wake

with a light inside me

I cannot find

in the room.

Your voice is there—

caught in the grain

of the silence.

I lie still,

afraid the smallest movement

will scatter

what sleep

has left of you.

How strange,

to miss a moment

that never happened;

to carry its warmth

into a morning

that knows nothing

of the fire.

By noon,

I’ve forgotten

what you said.

But all day,

something in me

keeps turning

toward the sound.

— Noeticnonsense.