I packed a suitcase for just myself 
then took a trip to winter months. Found
the key to the bedroom in a snow-crusted corner. 
Flat-lined in a crowded room and had to shake

off the hangover in          
                    empty spaces. 
So mood landed on carpet
and grew dim like a lamp when the flimsy blanket
drapes over the shade to welcome the latest
blast of ice in gray sunset. 
A slow crawl folded under the blue
comforter; we met as matching garments. 

I wasn’t far from the throbbing pace. 

Below,
first floor lazy fingers dripped
on piano keys. Voices and gestures around
tables shoved to be the latest distraction—
they even searched my number. Dry pens,
red-inked notebooks buried the cell phone
on the other side of the lock 
and hums filled in where 
            fingers                           
left. By the final 
hour, I retrieved the heavy lids
and parted lips shaped as a sleeping 
cap. Evening shift bowed as I
fluttered through closing statements. 
Voices—I never itched to joined—blurred
into a low buzz…silence. 
(Finally).
Minutes counted with slow breaths.
Until
         sleep
                 entered
                            muted
                                       walls—
 

Note: From my poetry collection, All the Words in Between