5 A.M. Poem by Ben Partenay

a clutch of nothing, you wish
for the dream to return, to
feel the tip of touch and let
the fingers dance mad once

again, it's night and I am
climbing stairs to the attic
of my mind, where you visit
from time to time, I have

pictures wrapped in cherry
cloth and stones to throw
your way if you chance
to visit this place, again i

wonder where dreams go
to die, picture room of
stone with one chair, a mirror
facing it, growing old, and me

repeating, repeating, wake
up, wake up, with lips and
mouth and how the mind melts
at this, just a moment

it begs to breathe and
coughs and I am four years
old and running to the river, you
see yourself in ripples, water

droplets pinned to earth, see
yourself calling out, wake
up, wake up,
the meter's running.