While I have sufficient opinions on the management of every aspect of life, I’m afraid I will never get the opportunity to run the world according to my designs because I am always discombobulated by the coming of morning. While I’m still trying to find my glasses and put on my pants, others have already grasped the reins of power.
Light in Other Windows
Sleepless again, I look for light in other
windows. Who shares my waking —
tapping at a keyboard, reading late
on a lonely bed, or pacing a cold floor?
What might another night hold? Each
inhabits a different village from each
when everyone else lies deep asleep.
The grocer remembers a woman’s scent;
a vet wakes up from heavy shelling;
a pregnant woman rubs her back.
For me, aging, I sleep little and lightly
as if saving up for my eternal rest.
They sleep best who lack imagination,
rise early, clear-headed, and set to work.
Night owls waken one eye at a time, stagger
up to brew coffee, then take it back to bed.
Note: unpublished draft
We share the common affliction of insomnia. Currently it is 225 a.m. Central and sleep seems a distant goal. I periodically returned to the kitchen sink to fill my water bottle and peerr out over the neighborhood, surprised to see joggers after midnight with their dogs. At least they’re getting a walk.
And the cold air muffles the sound of the mile away freeway. So the night is silent.
Sweet dreams Dale. Beautiful poem.
Thanks, and sweet dreams to you too, my brother.
Again, another beautiful piece. I used to sleep like a baby. But, looking back, I realized that it was because I stayed up until 2:30, 3:00, 3:30, etc.; trying to get my lessons in order for the coming of the Genghis Khan hordes of my High School students. Now that I am retired, I try to align my sleep with my family. And sadly, it often means a lot of “work” trying to get to sleep. I really liked your line, “Aging, I sleep
little and lightly, as if saving up for eternal rest.” In my opinion, that says it all.