Sunday nap (A poem)

I went to sleep in heat so heavy it muffled the world
dreamed of the sea breaking against porous sandstone
awoke, hours later, to rain, and a breathing cool,
creeping chilly fingers in through the cracks in the doorframe

this, you see, is the danger of naps:
you close your eyes to the world, and it shifts its shape
remaking itself utterly in the space of a fistful of snores
becoming other, while you aren't looking.

- Kathy, 20/12/15