this infection

The stillness of a stark night envelopes
me. It is dark. I cannot see.

The clean white sheets are threatening.
It is like climbing into a hospital
bed, and I am uneasy in its folds.

Oh, I am old, and covered in aches.
The stiffness of my limbs belies my age.
The ensuing years have done little to
dull the memory of what was done to me,

but there is nothing I can do except breathe,
breathe, breathe. No dreams.
The sheep are all dead,

caught in the act of trying to fly
over a moon that was too high.
The act of dying -
they land on the spikes of a fence.

And I am sure I know what happens next.

There is nothing that can ease the tempest
in me. I watch the ceiling. I continue
not to sleep.