It wakes when I wake, walks
when I walk, turns back when I
turn back, beating me to the door.
It spoils my food and steals
my sleep, and mocks me, saying,
“Where is your God now?”
And so, like a widow, I lie down
after supper. If I lie down
or sit up it’s all the same:
the days and nights bear me along.
To strangers I must seem
alive. Spring comes, summer;
cool clear weather; heat, rain….