Ode to Insomnia

To be the only open-eyed creature 

in a world of heavy-breathers

is a new kind of dreaming.

Silence thick lays itself heavy-warm on my

chest,

breathing stale air.

I am forced to seek inanimate companionship

in the love letters

of dead or distant poets

who were once too alone to be alone too.

Muscle-twitching,

eyelid-fluttering,

nasal-breathing

silence.

No good reason,

just another manifestation of a restless heart.