245. Nightscapes

his affairs of the night
are secret;
hidden
even from himself

his snores and sleep-talks
sound
like a mono-syllabic rhyme
with multiple interpretations
for different audience;
interpretations
I fail to decipher

like the rhythmic hum
of an alien robot
working tenaciously
to take over the world

like
a series of polite persistent nos
to devious escapades
proposed by himself

while I watch him
each night,
he chuckles

he retorts

he mumbles

he (seemingly) exhorts
invisible armies
towards unimaginable battles

and I wonder -
what if he is indeed
an extraterrestrial spy
(and I get rather excited 
by the prospect,
might I add)

and I wonder -
will I ever get to know
the person he becomes
each night?

will I ever get to know
the person who inhabits
the grey nightscapes in his head
between dreams and daylight,
between memories and midnight?

will I ever?

will he?

---
An ode to a frequently somniloquist, occasionally somnambulist husband!