So much disintegrates when we sleep
Dreams are just a disguise
A hoax to keep us distracted
You were saying his name again
The moon and I heard it
From where we hung suspended above this bed
You have learned to compartmentalize so well
A seamstress, a mother, a lover, a no longer wife
I turn over stones, retrace steps
Looking for that first hairline crack
In the glass cage that held us
But I can never find it
Perhaps once you’re awake
You can point it out for me

Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State, an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphans, and the author of I’m Not Supposed to Be Here and Neither Are You, out now from Unknown Press. You can also find him at

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