LONG WINTER'S NIGHT

 Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Should I sleep in my clothes again

or does it matter to anyone but me?

(Oh, there's crumbs in my beard...

maybe tomorrow I'll brush them out.)

There are nights when the fog rolls in

so heavy that the pale light of your lantern

won't begin to cut a path forward.

And you haven't got a dog

you haven't got a woman

and you just ran out of beer.

What is dead is restless

and you've rescued no one.

That portends a long winter's night

and summer has just begun.

 I'll leave the window cracked a bit

in case there are ghosts who want

to slip in to hurl their final accusations.

Then I will sleep

and close my eyes

to everything that dies.