Insomnia on a Theme From Brecht

My bedroom isn’t big enough. It’s full of archangels                                                                                                            —Bertolt Brecht

                                                                   First Psalm

They hover—bright, voiceless shapes hunting names.
No sleep will take him now. Afraid of dreams
that drop simple, small clues. When they first came
he asked them to stay. He’d keep his bed clean
for landings. He tried to speak to them. Words
get locked in his old mouth. They fled like birds.

No sleep wants him now. All his fearless dreams
got broken. He sweeps up, but the pieces
never fit together. They haunt sheets. Gleam
their malice, flashing faces of nieces
whose birthdays he couldn’t recall. No cards
were sent. He wants to pray. The dark’s too hard

to break simply into clues. When they came
here once, they sought corners and threw soft light
on pages that missed his basket. They flamed
hot sometimes. He asked them to stay all night
but with no speech, they managed to say no.
He curled under his sheet or clutched his pillow.

They never stayed, He’d make his bed and clean
his hiding places so they wouldn’t look
at him or his intended mess. He’d beam
his false smile at the ceiling, close his books.
He’d hunted their names in forgotten lists,
folding corners. They’d float. Play games with mist.

On a landing, late, something squeaked. Not words
but life outside his room. He’d like to sleep
while light called sound. Still, whatever he heard
wasn’t his name. If he dreamed. The loose heaps
would rise to life, talk to angels. Reveal
his boring secrets and wounds that don’t heal.

His old, unlocked mouth might call them like birds
if sound could escape. It might give him strength
to chase silent shapes away. If they heard
him call. If they measured, the great length
of his damaged throat, he’d end their fierce game
hovering, voiceless, hunting down his name.

Mark J. Mitchell  has been a working poet for fifty years. He’s the author of five full-length collections, and six chapbooks. His latest collection is Something To Be from Pski’s Porch Publishing. A novel that includes some poetry, A Book of Lost Songs is due out next Spring. He’s fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Dante, and his wife, activist Joan Juster. He lives in San Francisco where he points out pretty things. Visit him at Facebook, Twitter and YouTube.