did you sleep well?

press flat into a cover.
boys with no sheets. 
boys falling off bunk beds--
the floor of the rain forest
where the jaguar is shadow 
& lavender. the springs cobra
coiled, i let you out, 
seeping onto the floor board--
the smoke of a dragon. 
what do i keep under the bed?
i keep dried rose petals &
nettles & other means for 
burning. i wait for you
to fall asleep to mark
the door with lamb's blood.
my mother first told
me the story of the angel 
of death-- when i picture
her i imagine the angel as a woman
with no eyes-- just holes
that turn into the long
hallway in my parent's house--
the longer longer longer
hallway. you stand at the
end but you become
the closet-- your shoulder,
a door knob. please sleep well.
i promise there is nothing
here-- just a boy in his
backyard-- cold & damp with dew.
the first born son,
a kind of talisman around
the neck of a house. 
i coax the snakes back into
the mattress, i do this
with dead mice. they still
snap at me & i tell them that you're
sleeping. pillowcase promise
that you recognize me even
in the dark of the room--
that the spoon in the sink
is a boy. that the glass
of water on the end 
table is full of lips.
i take mine off 
& hang them above the bed,
placed with a single thumb tac,
cover them with my hand
& tell them hush.