Sweat & Silver

The nightmare ripped, a thin sheet torn.

Then the wet, cold shock of it,

my skin slick, the pillowcase

a cool, damp compress.

My breath, a shaky thing

trying to find its rhythm back.

The heat, a siege, has finally lifted.

It took my headache with it,

or mostly. Just a throb

behind one eye, a dull drum.

The streetlights through the window

are hazy halos, silver coins

dropped into a dark well.

Everything quiet, a fragile quiet.

The sickness gone, but left

a hollow ache, a residue of fear.

Too tired to move, too clear to sleep.

Just this strange, delicate peace

before the world remembers me.