there was a man outside, yelling

there was a man outside, yelling,
and it was 4am.

me: already awake
(insomnia gremlins toss me, turn me,
too hot, too cold
wide-eyed and alone before dawn,
listening to the breeze outside the first-floor window
just behind the headboard)

him: mostly sleeping,
caught up in the depth of nighttime,
too deep even for dreams
(and solid, heavy, breathing perfectly next to me,
unmoveable and undisturbed by my flipping, rolling,
kicking away the comforter, pulling it back to my chin)

the man outside kept yelling,
and stirred the sleep pattern
of the deep-sleep boy next to me.

4am, and he reached for me with heavy arms,
pulled me in, rested his head between his pillow and my neck,
nestled.

there was a man outside, yelling,
and i thank him for reminding me that
i am loved.