Dreams by Sue Sinclair

At night your mind
has nothing to do but listen
to itself hum, a cloud of insects behind glass,
attracted to the glow of your sleep.

Like pulling on a pair 
of long gloves—not to repair or
dissect, but to feel your heart’s work
with invisible hands.

When you wake up, a slight 
change inside you.  Your suitcase
was searched.  Everything’s still there
but shifts
when you pick it up.

~ from Mortal Arguments (Brick Books, 2007)