Musings #67 Poem in Plainsongs

HERS IS a PLEA for NOTHINGNESS

No, not even dreams. Relentless,

thoughts – both somber and trivial –

carry her away

to before, to after, never still here

on these sheets, under this quilt.

Restless as a small boat lost

in choppy waters. Utterly lonely.

How much time has passed, how many

hours left to sleep? Hands spin

round a Dali-drooped clock face,

with no audible clicks. How she dreads

another day of dragging fatigue.

Finally, she nudges her husband

to roll on his side, holds onto him

as if he were a timber

splintered from that wrecked boat.

Maybe he can keep her afloat,

his rhythm rock and croon her.

But sharks circle. Time, like water,

has run out. Giving up, she rises,

hollow-eyed.

Sunlight steals through the blinds.