When Sleep Will Not Come
Late at night, when sleep will not come,
I stand out on the front porch.
Even though nothing moves the world is not still.
In the dark I feel it vibrating under my feet.
The unseen passes through matter like it’s underwater,
A series of long waves
I can count in my pulse but cannot claim. I take a breath.
All the crickets are talking on their phones to busy signals.
Nothing is listening.
[from the book Vanishing Tracks, 2011]
Whew. Fantastic poem.
Thank you, Emily. Older poem but it fit the evening.
I love the last two lines. A sense of aloneness in the middle of so much, and it’s not a peaceful alone, either.
Thank you, Claudia.