Lullaby (with Exit Sign)

I slept with all four hooves
          in the air or I slept like a snail

     in my broken shell.

The periphery of the world
          was gone. The giant exit sign

     blinking above my head.

My family sings
          its death march.

     They are the size of the moon.

No, they are the size
          of thumbtacks punched

     through the sky’s eyelid.

What beauty, what bruise.

          
(What strange lullaby is this
     that sings from its wound?)

Here, my dead father knocks

          
on a little paper door. Here
     my family knocks, waits.

Come through me, my darlings

          
whatever you are: flame,
     lampshade, soap.

Leave your shattered shadows

          
behind. I’ll be the doorway
     that watches you go.