I fear the dark of the night
not as in my childhood -
then the forces were external,
witches, ghosts, for a long time
the Speckled Band - there was a high vent
above my bed.
No: today, tonight,
it is my thoughts I fear.
As the moon rises
they multiply with the stars
they merge into a Milky Way
of echoing reproach:
you've failed, you've failed.
And can I at this late hour
wake to a calm dawn
of quiet resolution?
Is there a healing path
leading to the sunlit uplands,
and I, inept, irresolute, rudderless,
can I find and follow it?
