Talking in my Sleep

I fell

asleep too early only to awaken at three a.m., then, five thirty a.m.

Dreaming in lines of prose

For the first time in a while.

/a kitchen hood fan/

I shoot awake and word-play potentialities for the phrase.

Three contexts I conjure before kicking the endeavor to

Fall

asleep again.

N plays ball with the deceased Jessie-pup.

A Border Collie with no one to herd but a slobber-covered tennis ball.

“She doesn’t know when to quit. She gives herself heat stroke. Don’t let her eyes get too red. She needs a summer shave. I did not know that she was still running.”

A nod acknowledges.

Then I remember, the gal knows how to throw the ball with her own mouth.

Huh.

A sharp knocking kicks me conscious.

Hello?

Just hammers from next door’s reconstruction.

Good morning.

Coffee. Chug.

Walk the block.

My body awoke, but the coffee still ain’t caught what passes for my mind up.

I sleepwalk.