Awakening

It isn’t the truck grinding out disdain  
in the morning’s half-light alley  
or the backdoor cricket scratching a limb  
that unhinges me from my dreams.

Percussions of the night  
find their rightful place in dreams
shaking chains from the other side  
like the unrequited Marley.  

The trespass that jogs me up  
is a welcome footfall that slips between us
smooth as paper under Christmas ribbon
and a precious limb sure to push against my ribs

nudging into my soul
to let me know  
that even in the deepest reverie
or across the widest Lethe  

Wherever I step, he will follow.