It’s late. (No, it’s early.)

Merwin jumps up, pads silently beside me, and collapses into cat loaf position.

(Is that a purr or a roar?)

The clock ticks, too loudly. (Why do I still have a clock?)

I twirl the sheet into roses under my fingers and dream of sleep.

Erin Gilmore is an artist and editor living in Los Angeles.