I wake up in the middle of the night

I wake up in the middle of the night
a nagging feeling of something left undone

sit up in the bed   sheets wrinkled, pooled about the waist
and about the heart a light panic

vague fears, reasons, unreasons, encroach
impalpable, close as the throat

what was the thing left undone?

was it the engine left running
personless, keys in the ignition?

or was it the numbers, interest
accruing in stacks?

oh, it is all and none of that
oh, it must be—

try to lie back down, rigid, on the bed
beg deep gods for the fade to black

in the mind amounts rise
descend, figures flash

the bill, that one, unpaid
let to mount and grow   also, the tax—

oh, it is all and none of that
oh, it must be—

I get up, walk to the window where sleeps
(I think) the neighborhood, uninsomniac

walk to the kitchen, rearrange
bowls, plates in the dish rack

the clock ticks, early morning minutes click and pass
force myself back onto the bed’s iron rack

oh, it is all and none of that
oh, it must be—

I wake up in the middle of the night
a feeling of something left undone—

I must say, my skull aches, you know, from the piles of ash
try to refrain from—cannot help but scratch

soon I succeed, poke a finger down to liquid
green, squish springs of brain—

oh, a tunnel through the planet! I peer through,
at the ready for the next dispatch—

Next Scene: I’m auditioning for the part of a golden-domed haystack
I keep waiting for Millet or the muezzein to call me back.

Scene Three: my life is Bill Gates.
holding an infant orphan on his lap

he keeps repeating, Your business plan,
Your business plan is off track.

oh, it all and none of that
oh, it must be—

I wake up in the middle of the night
a fading memory of—

figures on a field arraying and disarraying, and at the base
of the column, in an unknown script—I lean down—

Scene Six: a great sea monster arises from the waters,
myself, handless, below in the tiniest of rafts

a five-armed man, bulgy-eyed, nears and wheezes
in my ear, Remain. Do not react!

just then, the tongue of the sea monster lunges down, lashes
me up onto itself. the man calls up to me in air, Just wait. Soon it will retract!

oh, it is all and none of that
oh, it must be—

I leave the bed and get a drink of water
face pale, hollowed in the mirror

 a clutching feel at the chest

on the other side of the mind
waking up me at night

figures on a field, arraying and disarraying
myself, readying for attack and—

I leave the bed and get a drink of water
my face pale, hollowed in the mirror

in the glass I cannot stare at her
I trip, sit down on the cool of the toilet

the light unnightly glaring
down upon me

about me I feel it, early morning’s grey cloud
a drifting sorrow, night-still, close as choking

I am little red riding hood off to see my grandmother
curious, I look inside my basket: there I find the ax

and it is then I remember:
it is—

in my throat, I find it, that thing
I remember what it was, past waking

chest on knees
leaning forward

I wait   I listen   I sit   I rock
I hear it from within, the sob

and I cry then
for what has been

for what is
for what will be

yes in the quiet of the night I call out
(to whom I do not know)

and I beg—
and I listen to the tiles

to the waking
tiles echo