Vague traffic sounds outside the window.
A light snow falling. Waking a little.
Slipping off again. The distinctions
between things blurring not to the point
of being indistinguishable, but softening
the parts of myself normally barred
from each other. More than where
public and private selves merge,
here is where the selves I might
become are cast on those I’ve been.
Here is where one learns to lay claim
I wake, my not-yet-self
projecting back on the life I rise into.