night is a rabbit hole and sleep is a coin toss

If the constellation of stars 

above your house looks like 

a woman skating across a lake 

 

you could name it that. If someone 

long before you called it warrior with a sword 

or dragon at the gate, it doesn't matter, 

 

it's your sky now. If you're lost in the evening 

fog all your former selves line up by the side 

of the road to show you the way home. 

 

If you want to pry open the moon 

and crawl inside, remember the sky 

waits like a clock for you to unwind. 

 

The planets contain the fur of wooly 

mammoths and fossilized ferns 

 that never got to be trees. Your position 

 

relative to them is what you think about 

when night is a rabbit hole and sleep 

is a coin toss. A hand moves across your face 

 

in a dream you are having about being alive. 

When you wake up the hand disappears 

along with the way it felt to be dreaming, 

 

on the edge of some great adventure. 

The shadows of owls against the trees 

are not owls but you can pretend 

 

the sound of branches against the window 

is someone trying to get in. You can breathe 

and imagine the night breathes with you. 

 

[Susan Leslie Moore. 'Night of the Living', from The Commuter]