|Bryan Harry, 1964 (Additional photo credit info below)|
The nights are the worst
(although, she’s getting used to them).
In darkness, her mind reinterprets
what her eyes have seen; magnifies missteps,
manufactures mistakes, threshes anxiety --
culling the seeds of inadequacy
from every success.
angst increases exponentially and
pleasant dreams become a chimera --
ducking her every snare.
This time, though, she’s certain
she’s outfoxed Morpheus.
She’s counting sheep.
Slowly, she feels
her thrumming pulse decelerate,
her every breath becoming softer, lighter,
smoother with each leaping lamb, until
just before she drifts off
into sweet, peaceful sleep,
she hears the coyote’s call
Written for 2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 6 – A NIGHT poem:
Coyote Howling, Yellowstone National Park / Bryan Harry, National Park Service, 1964
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