February.12




Usually the night is full of sleep but last night was different, containing about 5% sleep by volume: discontinuous sleep, the least useful kind. Without sleep, tolerance suffers. Concentration wanders off. I can’t find mine and the effort of search is frowning my head. My teeth get unnecessarily sharp and unyielding claws spring from tapping fingertips. Hot water drops from the tap, is imprecisely mixed with scented foam. In the steam, floating limbs and mind click back together like a mended toy. Sharpness relocates. Some preciseness of thought makes a list of what will happen next. Get out of bath. Wrap inside the towelling robe and look out at the infinite sky. The oblique orange moon stares back, like the iris of a dragon.


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