Winter
The day is shorter the night longer and yet sleepless suffer the dark in the air in bed
I listen to roar or whisper of wingless worries
no high poetry but nightmares trimming the sun and the sky that could never be
Winter here is less a season than a state of mind. The speaker notes that days are shrinking and nights stretching, and that sleep still won't come. The dark seems to fill everything, "in the air in bed," so there is no corner of the night to escape into.
Read the full summary