The moon is shining in my eyes
I can tell because the kid
at the end of the alley
suddenly washes out
and I’m awake again.
Now the rest of the night
lies around me like
a fetid swamp:
I am mired in it up to my waist
and sleep is inside
on the other side of the door.
My pajamas hang on me
like prison garb;
through the windows
inside is freedom
people are blissfully
unaware that I am
being held illegally
in this swamp
I am locked out
with no escape.
My chest is weighted down
breathing is part of the torture
my feet are freezing and
the swamp is not on any map
there is no end
to this place,
no rescue will come
no lawyer will call
no embassy staff:
it is a life sentence
this solitude.
And the daytime
that comes once every century
becomes less real
as my brain pays the price
of this still sentence.
The guard is asleep:
the door stays locked.
