No Sleep
Something in me doesn’t want to sleep I might wake up in the rubble of Berlin or marooned on an island wearing shoes or…
The coolest part is in the center of a flame
The driest part is in the center of the sea
The highest part when the depths are home
The most healed part when all is broken
The whitest part when blackness surrounds
The quietest part in the middle of sound
The fastest part in absolute stillness
The sweetest part when bitterness obtains
and can’t be shaken and horizons are
gun metal gray with one or two clouds
that move like camels with front legs hobbled
to slake their thirst at an oasis of openness
around whose perimeters angels are gathering
who’ll soon appear in the vision of the most
hopeless among us at the very lip of despair
before all solace is foregone
in the gathering twilight lit by their
fiery dancing in the center of which is a coolness
in the drowning depths of which is a dryness
at the nadir of which is altitudinous light
that makes us whole out of uttermost brokenness
ignited in a night whose dark is hammering
but in the blast of each blow is serenest silence
whose stillness is such that it accelerates
a sweetness that pours out its
honeyed mouth into the world
7/22/06 (from In the Realm of Neither)
Categories: Poems