Insomnia

These are the broken hours after light
Where the Dreaming never quite goes
Between the loud clock and darker night
In the places nobody knows.

Each one is as short as a nightmare
Or longer than all of a life;
The line between darkness and dawn there
Is sharper than any sharp knife.

Each chime of the clock in the hallway
Is an addendum to grief;
The words you exchanged throughout the day
Sneak up from behind like a thief.

The mating of cats round the garden,
Each screech is a spike in your ear;
The blanket of sleep will not harden
As the hours of night disappear.

You doze in discomfort for ages,
Till daylight makes light of your woes;
You wonder why nothing assuages
The itch that you feel in your nose.

Some time before six you find slumber,
The itch now subsides and is gone;
But one more increases the number
Of times that insomnia has won.