Haunted by the stillness of the night.
Nothing but tossing, tumbling, I twist and turn.
This bed a board of heat allowing no refuge.
No cradle of comfort for me this night.
A feast of tangled covers devouring the minutes and hours.
Longing for the possibility of blankness or even a dream.
It is done. The peak of day defeating the endless wrestle.
Solace elusive for another night.
~ Barbara Bernard Miller