Ten Sacred Minutes

My head, thick with bed-woven static,
leans toward the table beside me.
I raise an arm,
a slow emergence from the deep,
reaching for the only word
that grants mercy:
snooze.

The glue of sleep loosens
as I stir from the shadows of night.
A groan escapes,
left, then right.
Bones creak like century-old floorboards.

The arm drops.
The blanket lifts,
settling back over my shoulders.

In that hush between alarms,
the room holds its breath.
Ten sacred minutes,
folded into the blink
of a tired eye.