couch sleeping

we still had towels tacked up as curtains.
sliver of light coming in to bisect the room. 
no one else was home in the apartment
& still i always chose the couch to sleep on. 
took the quilt from the suitcase beneath the bed
& pretended i was a beetle. skeleton
on the outside. the cockroaches slept
behind the fridge. the dog came to sleep
with me. the stripe of sun dividing her
in half. legs & legs. i would always wait
for her to dream. soft far away barking.
i wanted to go with her. to a meadow
where we would chase birds
the size of the building.
doors slammed. teeth fell out. children
tore through the halls. the world 
a ball of yarn unspooling & yet we had a raft.
warmth. the coming autumn. something
to keep the stars from crawling on the ceiling.
i never slept much. a few minutes slipping away
from a bruise. the creak of the floorboards 
as i turned. always craving five more minutes.
really, i wanted it all to stop.
start a new life on the couch. grow crops.
raise deer. forget everything else. 
the dog would wake up startled sometimes.
she always moved her body
closer to me. i told her, "go back to sleep."
held as still as i could to not disturb her.