night and night

i write asleep.
i pretend not to notice
when i am awake, but these things
happen. inevitable. like sleeping.
writing. or how most people
have sexual encounters with
themselves as teenagers.
into adulthood. when lonely,
i am my own best friend.
it is how writing works, alone,
my mind folded into a corner,
these images clear as if through
glass, how i see scenes years past,
inconsequential as walking
to catch the bus in winter, or
textures of floors and furniture
from my childhood home.
or remembering, imagining
landscapes i have never seen,
not outside my dreams, not
outside my writing.
the alarm goes off, and then
i write awake.