So sleep
small and feral, scurries
about the floor of a dark kitchen,
eludes me, as the buses
roar by on the avenue
along the light rails
of their head lamps
and I wait
for the release of sleep.
As a young man
I could not sleep
when it was the night on call
or the night after that night or
the night immediately before. Babies
fled to the far side
of their steel-barred cribs
when I approached
out of the dark with a white tray
of sharps, intent on settling with them
and returning to sleep. Their parents
watched, thin-lipped, or left the room.
But on this night I cannot sleep
I prowl gray stairs
from ward to ward.
The parents cradling their babes
continue rocking
as I approach their chairs
as I crouch, silver-haired
to introduce myself. They relax
their shoulders; they smile,
as they should. They seem . . . [Full Text of this Article]
