There’s that half-step between waking and sleep
when there’s nothing to do but wonder,
lucidity blinking in the darkness.

Lying beside him, he reads me
the old newspaper grimy with wanderlust
that blows to rest at his feet.

My secrets, my fears, all that should be unsaid
escape – furtive, these emaciated, haunted prisoners
sprint from their spoon-dug tunnel.

Sneaking between dry lips
and leaping from shaky hands, grasping in the black
finding sanctuary in sighs.

Mouths become delirious, weak as we are
exhausted from the high-speed chase
jailbroken and free.

When the handcuffs come off
when everything’s stripped away
life defaults to truth.