There was a load of people one day
who got dropped off by trucks or cars or something
and they inhabited the house in which I was being
for a time.
And during that time, however much I enjoyed
the conversations, I sensed fatigue steal in and curl up,
not in my lap like a cat, but in my brain like a fog.
To become slowly transparent and slip quietly away,
to reside instead with pretend characters in books
or at least on a couch in the semi-darkness
with the sounds at a distance
that would be delightful like morning coffee
wished for since bedtime.