Maze

Sleep has this way
of folding back in on itself,
like the rain forest on a dead tree,
or the tide, or the way
sunset takes all the light back.

I suppose you could argue with it,
but the judge is decomposing,
logic is rolling away,
and definition grows dark.

Just on the very edge,
my ears whine like jets,
my sinuses fall into graves,
my ribcage opens,
and my heart
leads a tattered band
into the square of shadows.