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by Liz Bruno


Tonight I am paying attention.

You have raised me from my bed

Like a hair rises to a chill,

Standing in full salute.


I am measuring your whimpers

And their earthquakes.

I am the seismologist here

Who must predict how much energy

Will erupt.


Will your sleep break?

Will your surface waves

Shake your father into getting up?


On nights like this

I ask you, little epicenter,

How you came

To joggle everything up.


I ask you,

Is there anything

You can't touch?