I am tired but cannot sleep
Or will not readmit the silent night.
I kneel before the kindled fire
Humbly warmed before its roar.
Its kiss and crackle a comfort
On the round silent dark day.
A skim of dreams caught and lost,
A habitual melancholic stare.
The cats are curled and silent,
Heads held thus, angled, ears ready.
They slip, too, bolsters between worlds,
Watching new ghosts stumbling
Unacquainted with their freedom.
Long held time caught fire
And vanishing up in smoke:
Each a metaphor for all.
A cup of words swilled and tasted,
A meal meagre but stilling echoes.
Eyes will close and close again:
The bright dream fields of morning.
And those I had forgotten,
Still waiting, one door swinging shut,
One door, opening out soundlessly.
—
simonhlilly 