Sleep no more. Sleep stolen from my bed chamber
in a pod of light,
and like an actor I can only play the part.
I do not know what other truth you wish for me
only to say, that it happened. To me. In October.
The night was cold, winter showing its shoulder,
the cows were fed, the horses in their straw beds.
To me this was the only thing queer about the night,
then.. the pod of light, the shaking windows. I had to replace
three, do you know how much that set me back?
not to mention the doctor's pills when the headaches
return. I say they were not friendly,
these who took me up into the trees, but like cruel
ministers, revealing all of hell and saving heaven
for his favored parishoners. It is as if I have been given
something like a gift, something as useful
as a door. It swings open sometimes to reveal
the other side of universe. To hell with them, I say,
let them call me back if they will, I'd rather stare into
the rushing void of their eyes for the last time. No more, no more.
