unconcious

lately it feels as though
i'm walking in my sleep
i bump into things during dreams:
my car, a cat, the vacuum i've left out
as a reminder of what needs cleaning.
my toes are bruised, stubbed so many
many times.
there does not seem to be
anything
that will wake this sleeper,
i hear them say. it is up to
her.
last night, in cavernous living room
the dark creeping through screen doors
and across beige carpet,
i hear so many things that could
nudge me to clarity--horns honking,
the chirping of a thousand birds, a cricket, man and woman's
voices fighting over something they'll later
forget,
and then a sneeze, incongruous at dusk.
i cannot see the person; their anonymous breath
jostles air, and pushes me
to laugh,
blinking awake
before i doze again.