Infinitive, 2 AM

by Sarah Kathryn Moore

To fall.
The sheer
summer nightgown
edged in lace
is how

you know you’re not
asleep. You have
no choice. Headlong.
Were you

asleep, you would
be edged in bronze.
You would be flung.

What’s wrong.
You turn. Some
body folds himself
in half,
is gone.

Sarah Kate Moore is a graduate student at the University of Washington. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming most recently in Cutbank, The Seattle Review, and Poetry Northwest. When she’s not writing, she’s dancing or drinking tea, sometimes simultaneously.