Tuck yourself in.
The blanket is your hoodie,
this is just a dream. At night, we call
all things by their own, proper names:
North Star, Great Oak, Owl King.
Tuck yourself in.
There’s Snifflekeeper, Brownie, Merryclimb
that sit on shelves, unwavering
eyes and fur like
soft ice cream.
Tuck yourself in.
The lights are dimmed.
The outlines grow and shrink:
a boat that’s drifting past the lies,
along the forest lines in
softer, gentler arms . . .
I can tuck you in.
pi & anne 
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