Sandpaper

Time and wind spin

in a little pine box

under my pillow.

I can hear the sand 

pouring as I sleep.

It erodes me.

Thoughts slough off

like skin cells on sheets..

My topography

 smooths to a plane.

Moonlight undulates

over my eyelids.

A polishing fluid.

Oil and diamonds.

I am suspended.

It seeps into my cracks.

I am scrubbed clean,

rubbed away,

refined,

cut.