by Jon Ferguson.
Often I awake
in the middle of the night
to check if my heart is still beating.
The light goes on
when I flick the switch.
Friend Whitman had no switches flicking.
I see the things –
light, lamp, books, clock, pen,
near to finger touch always reassuring.
The woman asleep,
body turned on her bed side
with private dreams always recurring,
The daughter upstairs,
angelic fourteen dreams her life,
with cat in the midnight garden roaming.
Yes, the pump is on
having not yet decided
to shut down and end its time working.