Sleeplessness

Darkness washes over you . . .
      Only the sofas are safe under the lamps’ umbrellas . . .
I feel the earth so fully, beaten beneath the floor, the asphalt,
and the forgotten voices of the dead . . .
                             Balconies and squares are all grown green.
If I stretched my arms out quietly, I’d become a living cross.
But a cry cracks the street . . .
                              rips up my peace and quiet.
And the papers are full of huge lament
                               (can’t, can’t be repeated) . . .

Wires scream like that . . .
                      Statues, walls and stations rush by .. .
Empty trolleys swim past the cities,
                                washed down by dawn and fog...