How many strange nights have I spent awake,
only to move through the next whole day dull,
like a somnambulist who heedless, takes
mad walks through the world of dreams, softly lulled
through some forgettable conversation
by a bright chimera of quiet thought
that hides in its draining deprivation
the night’s battle to be joined, and hard fought
so that the body’s natural rhythm
can be re-established and set to rights?
In these slow hours that drag before the dawn
I sense between mind and soul a schism,
a rended veil between the dark and light,
that with the rising sun, pretends it’s gone.
11 JAN 2003