perhaps I should genuflect
light a candle
mumble something holy
but when the night terrors come
to this private vault
we call consciousness
only my dog can hear me
be near me
comfort this old skin
so I say a little prayer for him
and whisper I’m ok
Between night and day lies a slate sea
with only cheap whiskey
to ease the passage towards dawn.
Seven times we listed to starboard
until on the eighth I went over,
dashing my head amid the flotsam
of my ruined work.
Beached in the silver of the new day
I slept the sleep of kings,
dreaming of dark eyes and of no awakening.
Tonight we set sail again,
strapping ourselves to the mast.
For there be sirens.