Low Clearance

I’m flat on the cold linoleum floor

reaching for a cord that isn't there.

It’s a world of gray fur and forgotten things

just three inches below my sleep.

There is a single sneaker, left behind,

crusted in lint and salt from last year.

It looks like a small, dead animal

waiting for the tide to come back in.

I’ve spent so much time on top of this mattress

never thinking about the drift

accumulating quietly beneath my spine.