Lullaby

Shall I stay or go through the door

Will the pen [unverified]

Watch the stars

Sleep's a chore



The moon is growing cold

It hangs like a sliver of tin

How do our dreams unfold

And why are my bones feeling thin?



I watch my pen as though

My fingers could shatter like icicles

And before my eyes

Lie glittering and useless on a field of snow