The language of shadows

i tread dawn like that old great ship*, unable to sleep after he goes off to work, too early, not normal for us. i don't even know if i sighed him a kiss. it's still dark when i hear him close the gate just outside my bedroom window. he doesn't want to leave the front door unlocked while we sleep, only i'm just lying here and i feel like i should reach out, tell him, but i lie in the shadow morning, hear the purr of others off to work, see headlights outlining windows, briefly, before they round the drive. connor is in my bed, and i'm in his, and his shallow wheezy breath-snores fill space just like shea's quiet dream puffs, and i'm acutely aware of their breathing in these four walls. they dream, and i toss and turn, the dog's tail wagging against my leg every time i move. i wonder if she's just trying to acknowledge me and i find minor comfort in that thought. i pat her nose and she wiggles up tight and close. old habits force me to push her off. i wonder if this is the morning the heart fog will dissipate, if light will shine through more than just the slits in my blinds? shadows whisper in their own language as furniture outlines emerge, and i think i should pray but can't even get outside my own head. lying here, the ceiling seems low despite being vaulted. clouds turn from grey to pink, and the house isn't so still anymore. i finally eek a prayer, just help me get through today, and i'm up. dawn shakes out her last weary sigh, and she and i start together. just help us get through today.

(*please, please, know this literary reference?!)

linking up with emily and trying to shake my funk and sleepy eyes with imperfect prose.