‘Oh the mind, mind has mountains.’ Gerard Manley Hopkins
Death ends but not every day dies with sleep.
Engines grind down at the darkened cross roads –
passengers tilt forward, cargoes shift –
then – headlights sweeping the room’s bare walls,
slashing the night – accelerate out of reach:
goods secured, people insouciant.
In the silence, in the empty stillness
that follows, I am awake, restless, waiting
then nightmared. I cannot control, resist –
whatever they are – ordinary thoughts,
admonishing angels, sheer demons. They
scale me, plunge me… Next day, all day, I feel
I have been in madness.