The Ants

His wife had awakened him 

in the middle of the night 

with a grand gesture

towards their bedroom door.

“They’re coming!” She exclaimed,

and through the fog of sleep

and a darkened room he peered 

in the direction she pointed.

“What is coming?” He asked.

“The ants are coming in the door!”

He placed his hand on her extended

arm and pushed it down to the bed.

“You’re dreaming.  Go to sleep.”

His own dreams were troubled 

and the sensation that his back

had fallen asleep annoyed him, 

all prickles and movement of 

a thousand determined bodies.

They carried him down the stairs,

his dreaming body nearly weightless

in the unwitnessed darkness.

Birdsong awoke him lying 

on the grass, hair dew-speckled,

the steel cable of reality now just

a thin thread wafting in his head.

***