You,

sleeping next to me,

buried in the half-light,

cough and sigh

while bees grind in my chest—

beating their wings,

cooling my heart—

then settle.

I prepare to chase my dream,

crouching like a sprinter,

digging my fingers into the dirt,

palms creased,

feet pressed into the starting blocks:

ready.

You cough once more,

I slant forward,

push the noise away.

My legs skim the track,

piercing the dream-clouds.

The flight of bees is swarming

deep in my chest,

dark, disturbed,

restless, when

a sliver of light

splits our bedroom curtains,

and the cloud scatters,

moving my starting line for sleep

yet again.