I Slight of Hand

It was a coin,
a coin I had--
before I stole it.
I was convinced that I
knew the size and shape of it.
The coin sat weighted
in my hand, and the face
on it looked baleful,
as the tails side was scratched off.

I flipped the coin,
nothing and a face,
blending as in an illusion,
nothing and a face,
the bird was in the cage.
It spun, and I couldn't tell
one side from the other.
Two dimensions were three there
in the air, free falling
into my expectant hand.
Then it was certain
to be one or the other.
Imagine then, to my surprise,
and chagrin,
when I opened my hand,
and there was no coin at all.

Night On Mind

I can't sleep, so here I am.
I'm afraid
when I lay back
I'll keep falling
through the bed
through the floor
and the earth,
that I'll disappear
like Bilbo with the ring.
What I am be eaten,
shredded, burned, gone
where nobody really knows,
like a tree falling
in the forest when no one
is around to hear,
please let there be
a sound regardless.
This I beg for.