When days
into nights
were sleepless,
full of unease,thoughts unpaused
flowed as rivers do
in early snow-melt spring,
things askew,
jumbled,
tossed,
sound thoughts turned
flotsam.
An herb draught drunk, a pill,
and now
with calmer, earlier, sleep
I rise with the fog.
Three nights unknown.
Dreamless fissures.
