Insomnia

Someone rearranges the furniture in my mind.

The bedside table is flipped, legs up

like a turtle on its back.

Armchair dragged to the corner beside

a dresser stuffed with slips of poems

visions of my children 

disappearing over the waterfall 

or engulfed in flames.

The numbers on the clock circle in reverse,

counting down from twelve.

I reach the highest branch on the tree

only to hear a snap and panicked rustle of leaves.