Like the brilliant awakening
of the sun that gives us warmth,
nights where dreams can’t find me
feel like another kind of morning.
Another kind of wakefulness
things that create worry,
seem distorted, unmanageable,
as well as unreal and distant.

So much do I try to keep
the betrayal to a minimum.
The body breaks down,
follows the enticement of rest,
allowing the moment to arrive again,
that single minute in time
where I wake to another loneliness
that drains the void of previous content.

Between my childhood and now,
I lost it.
Forgot what a good sleep was like.
Cannot remember what that minute was.
Perhaps the importance was less then,
however now I seek to make that memory,
to open my eyes to a morning
dazzled by the bright intensity.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017