Phantom Limb

We had a conversation late into the cold night. On her tired face, child and woman battled.She was trying her best not to give in to the lure of sleep. Sleep, the nemesis of will, gave you no choice. Nevertheless she kept a smile behind for me, like Hansel's trail of bread crumbs. But as sleep dragged her along I saw the smile slowly retreat like falling grains of an hour glass,like an ebbing tide, like a rogue tip of thread unravelling the weave.