INSOMNIA
Night. From the obsidian window
I stare back, a deconstructed mask
amongst trace elements of moonlight
rain, black leaves. I am part
shapes remembered and part shapes
from out of the sleep of reason.
In this cone of silence just
before the dawn, the shadow
world is palpable: gods
and monsters glide and crawl
by my garden gate. Half-dreams,
uncertain memories blow like feathers.
Here and now, I sense,
is the sticking place where
all things meet: skeletons into flesh,
ghosts into plasma, rumours, fears,
the whole arcana hard copied
onto the dark. No sound this side
of the distant rhyme of a long train
running. The night and I, strange
company in a world without hours.
And then, when I turn away,
there’s just my breath
and the falling rain.
10:22:56 PM 
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