Managing Midnight

You are the blank face of a mountain,
the crisp edge of a voice cold in the mountains.

Ice clear, beautiful as a bell.

I lie awake and imagine the route
I would take through you, there are so many paths.
They are enchanted and starlit.

You are a wild yellow tree,
up in the stratosphere.

Clattering and generous, beautiful as fruit.

I lie awake wondering how you breathe the sparse air.
You do not live here, you barely live anywhere at all.
It is thin and intoxicating for me.

You are a lake,
hanging in a hole in the earth.

Round and thirsty, beautiful as a globe.

I lie awake imagining how much of me you will drink.
Where will I be in your deep teeming water?
I swim far too deeply, breath becomes a death.

You are a hospital,
square and gratuitous.

My bloody scars are like bracken, beautiful as pins.

I lie awake and wonder how I know the map through you.
In each of your deathbeds I feel filthy and small.
There is always another one coming.