I fall asleep to clicking and clanging and 5 feet of light

coming from the South

I fall into places I'll never be with people who's names

I only know, and a few strands of black hair

I fall awake to silence

the kind that feels like a ton of clouds resting on your head

I fall back down again so I can stay with them;

though they know nothing but my breath

I stand conscious in my kitchen

and the tea kettle is the only whistling sound

I stand it hardly, I stand it nervously

If I could sit for one second and feel that I'm sitting

I'd stand to go to work again and smile till it hurts

I'd stand to make a phone call or ten or two

I'd stand to go elsewhere.