I awoke in darkness beneath the moon
Where the light was dim, but for a slender ray
That fell upon my face, and none other.
Orchards of dreams were disguised
As beggars crooning a song of desolation,
And the profligate morning birds
Were still asleep, resting their dainty warbles.
It was late and the insomniac moon
Played cold music in my ears,
A seashell hum foot-tapping
To the beat of toss-turning dreams.
Why can I not forget when forgetting is the cure?
The warm, wet beach hisses and coos, but her allure
Belongs to those who want to rest. I do not want to rest.
“Listen to your doctor,” they say.
“You are but human! You can’t go on like this!”
Let not the sun emerge and lacerate
The clouds, nor graffiti the sky with light,
That like a cloistered rose I may escape
The bee’s advance, escape the fragrant plight
Of sweaty stars, of wet earth, of erect
Plants and pregnant birds; I seek asylum