Honey, I Shrunk Myself

honey, i shrunk myself

In bed, alone, hand to forehead
shrunken by weariness, fingers
spread but little, like on a pear
and smaller, till I am a mouse
perhaps. Tiny nostrils flare.
Settling jaw onto paw, nestling
the fragile, ever lighter skull,
an empty shell in the open air.

If ever you see one you know
shrink inexplicably, in want
of something, on the edge of need,
like a baby about to cry, go -
turn into children, run away,
invent new words and paint the sky.

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Photo: SJ Moran outside the Guinness Storehouse, St James’s Gate, Dublin