A half-empty glass of water sits on your bedside table, among tissues and brown bottles. A wrong number getting me up late, it hits me suddenly about the glass and undoes a night’s good sleep: yeah, something’s amiss here; something’s definitely gone wrong. And it’s a long night coming; solitary cars buzz by outside on the highway, and the hiss and catch and hiss of your breathing like an old song goes: something’s wrong, wrong. If I were young enough to shake you awake, call it quits, step out of the house into the throng- ing dark, I know I couldn’t because what's wrong - I am. So I kiss your damp hair thinking you'll wake late from this dead sleep, and maybe tell me what it was about me I ought to have noticed all along.