Ransack
2 hours till dawn,
I go to sleep,
But hear the sun rousing.
Sweating
Does not relieve.
I curl and stretch
On the edge of the bed,
Roll, and repeat,
On the other edge.
I lie there, flat
As a doormat.
Not sure if my eyes
Are closed--if not,
What they are glaring at.
I spring up
And start a ransack--
It must be somewhere
Under the carpet
Or in the stomach
of some stuffed teddy bear--
Or is it hidden
In your deep fret?
I know--
I don't just believe,
I know,
Somewhere in the bin
Buried deep
Must be my Life
Unsoiled, fluid,
Unabridged.
Not this of a leech
Sucking on the cracks
For a light, undiminished,
Distilled, and
Out of reach.
April,1999.