Sleep is creeping around the corners of my eyelids.
The room is cold.
A shaft of light spies through the curtains,
Why does light do that?
The curtain never wins.
How can sleep festoon about me, when the spirit
Slips through the chink in the fabric
Of time.
I am watching the shape of nothing.
Mesmerised by nothing.
Soon, the shaft will be a beam reaching in,
Dragging me into the day.
Surely, on the other side
There must be a shaft of dark.