My Insomnia

My Insomnia

Along the jagged coastline of 2 or 3 a.m., I
wash up, awakened fully. Bloodstream
throbs, fingers twitch as if
playing some wild, salt-licked piano.
There's sand in my ears, rotting sea kelp
wound through my forgotten hair.

Around me is the darkness of
a hundred or a thousand years ago.
Animal darkness. Nighttime when
it was still huge and unmapped, littered
with myth and horses.

I rise onto my elbows, find
my legs. Maybe
the darkness lifts a little. Surf
continues its babbled story—here, there,
No wait, did I say that already?

Clumsy, tired, I begin the search for dry wood.