I found my doppelgänger at the bottom of the pile. All tangled limbs, scraped elbows and knees and heavy-lidded eyes that lolled open and closed with gravity when I lifted her head to see.
I woke up sweating for the fiftieth time
and thought maybe I am a funeral pyre by night
maybe all the dead stories of the world
come to me in the moonlight to sear on my skin
maybe I am the source of all of the dust motes
found floating in sunbeams by day