At 3:30 A.M.I gradually rise from my ocean of sleepAway from the trenches of unconsciousnessWhere lantern-fish dreams lurk.

Tick, tick, tickThe dutiful second hand is making itself dizzy again.Whirr…The fish tank motor sounds throughout the night.

It is darkYet I can see outlines of posters on my wall.My long-haired catIs curled tightlyAt the end of the bed.

My pillow is squashedSheets wrap around meAll other blanketsTossed unceremoniouslyTo the floor.

My throat is sandpaper dryThere is a tug at my stomach.Milk.I need milk.

Toes land among carpet fuzzThen lift slowlyI stumble through the hallway.

The kitchen blacker than my bedroomOutside puddles shudder with raindropsThe cat has slipped past meShe peers out with interest.

I flip the switchAnd harsh light glaresInto my pupils.I can’t see the rain any longerThe windows are dark squares.

I pour milk, and down the glassLeaving it on the counter.I flee the frozen tilesAnd climb into bed.