Insomnia

Insomnia

Forgive me—you were unable to sleep and I was

unwilling to listen; it wasn't the strange car parked

beside our drive or the quiet snow

concealing the roots of our trees, nor the dull moon,

half-borne across the night sky that made

you toss and rise and fall and shake our silent

bedroom and, restless, drift toward shallow sleep

to dream still of something fearful you couldn't

describe, a shadow there below us, nameless never

breaking the surface; it wasn't anything

that happened, only what didn't—forgive the silence, the one

who let you paddle alone in circles.