Night Visitor Poem by Ivona Sophia

you ask me what I’m thinking while
I’m lying in a bed having another attack
of insomnia, and my mind is playing tricks,
filling the room with people I’ve never met

like this guy from a crossroad, a stranger
with a familiar face. we looked at each other
for a split of second. he remembered me.
In my semi-dream he was hiding in my closet.

I close my eyes in my mind (it’s possible,
even if you still think I’m over the edge)
and envision a rainbow. color after color.
it’s always easy with red. it starts

from a small dot of blood on a white shirt
growing like a blossoming rose, spreading
all over, taking every thread hostage
washing off night visitors, calmly breading,

erasing the shadow of the man
playing peek-a –boo.