Between Goldberg - Sculptured

Goldberg’s variations had permitted sleep

And the turning in my stomach had awakened me

The dim blue light through my window

Had all but calmed me

I would stay up late into the night

Until the sun had warmed the Earth

Gripping at patterns of the morning

Fighting the sequences before my eyes

The sun rises and my panic begins

I’ve spent all night sick to my stomach

As if imagination were a disease

I’m tired, and I hope the sun burns us all

The Night was

Complex and

I could not

Break free it’s secrets

I wake with

The sun and

I’m ill with

The sun