Like grains of slow ice past
midnight beats back the clock
as sleep slips the knot
the ticking of the tock
steals moments of cool river water
rippling through non dreams
pealing bells of sleep slaughter
beyond  the witching hour
cusping the dead end of night
I could almost taste
the honey on my tongue
feel the sand between my toes
and the sun on my face
'til it was stolen once again
along with it all sense of grace
the warm soft hug of dawn
trades out for jagged edges
of bright that hurts & burns
we, the sleepless pledges.

J.C.