At night in a fit of half sleep

In the hours where time feels tired

I tuck the curtain into the space between the window

And the creaky worn shades

So that moonlight cannot pour into my room like a pitcher from the sky, But Little slivers of light still manage to peek through

any lines and openings it can find

Spilling all over my pillowcase, a mess of cold grey

And now instead of seeing nothing

I see the green flower pattern that I lay my head on every night

Now I am thinking Not of how to block out the moon, but of how beautiful the color green looks

Mixed in with its grey

And that maybe, I am not so tired after all