Narco Poem

Because the air was night he lay on his bed,
And as his wife dozed in the duvet converted
Her heavier breathing into stanzas of sleep.

And as he lay awake sleeping, another poet
Rose from his side, not vividly like a movie,
Nor grey like slumbering ghosts. He sat on the bed,

Looked once into the whites of the eyes, peered
Into the black pupils, then walked out of the room,
Through the corridor and down into the study.

He sat at the poet's desk and at every bench
The poet had sat, just as he would sleep in
Every bed the poet slept, and wrote silver lines.

He wrote a poem about an insomniac whose
Sleep, as his wife lay breathing, was a poetry
...