Sleep

by Tom Bajoras

Sleep walks the street at 6 AM,
pausing to paw at a window pane.
Pale gray light, faint laughter from
lingering guests too drunk to drive home.
Then down the main avenue,
past a silent department store:
No shoppers now;
just dollar bills sleeping in their secret beds.
A pinking horizon—
He knows his hour
and the fate of his kingdom.