Full fathom five

The way I wake up

is unusual, so

it has been said;

I stretch to find the

boundaries of the bed,

and, touching them

with curves of each

appendage, I slide

in glacial shyness

toward an unassuming

floor and tumble

in the bubble

wrap of blankets.

What dreams I’ve had

while falling (to sleep

and to this wake)

are touchstones to

a life that must

exist beyond our

give and take;

I meet my father

twice a year—

about the same

amount when he

was here—and

glory in the moment.

My dog wakes more

or less the same;

his boundaries

lack the trouble

of the coming day

(no messages to check

or bills to pay),

yet satisfy a

greater sense of

who he is and why,

regardless of his

father, who may be

me, for all we fathom.

DMVL

"Full Fathom Five" by Jackson Pollock, 1947