Bitter Water

Sleep will not come
pounding choruses of crickets pulse
blood ringing in my ear.
Night hastens its boney hand
Seizing the light;
Making captive all promises
Of delight.

It does not leave in dreaming.
It buys back these brief contracts from nothingness.
It speaks in voice undead from a whited grave.

Voices etched on the page like a name the hard wind cannot smooth away
An island amidst the chopping waves of broken speech---
Cracked bridge
A fractured boat
Bitter water gathers, slinking stream,
Ashes and pale distillation.

All at once one tries to think
One tries to hide,
Neither wakefulness nor dreaming.

Unrelenting toil
Pounding out our days from dark zero.
All of these things win back our world
No better than yesterday.

11/20/04
Altoona, PA