Treasure Island

Gary Witt


In Sleep's Absence


This street, in dawn’s penumbra, lends solace
To one who walks in the absence of sleep.
Angular mist reveals itself beneath street lights
And brushes against a ruminative brow, a pensive ear.
This quiet resists all sound; this chill collects and clarifies.
Emptiness fills, time halts in shadow and quickens in light.
In the absence of sleep there is only churning, useless energy
That dissipates from soul to brain to legs.
The mind winds dully, and muscles follow blindly,
Seeking without wonder, calling without connection.
Silence is a balm now; emptiness medicinal.
I come from quiet into quiet, from chill into chill,
I long for more, prepare for less, and see the fog through.
My coat on the back of the chair smells weary, wet, and cold.

Submitted: Saturday, December 26, 2009
Edited: Tuesday, December 29, 2009

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  • Alison Cassidy (12/27/2009 5:11:00 PM)

    This is an exceptional poem, shaped with skill and finesse. There is a softness in the poet's voice as though this morning meditation has lifted the fog of 'churning, useless energy' and left in its wake a place of calm awareness 'silence is balm now; emptiness medicinal' Delilah is right. You are a fine wordsmith Gary. It is a privilege to read your work. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ (Report) Reply

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