What wisdom slips between these quilted sheets?
Which glories fair, which failures or deceits
Will tremble as the lilting zephyr blows?
We are like ghosts; a faint disquiet grows
And formless beasts will walk these city streets.
We conjure from our minds such tricks and treats,
Our fears and furies granted in repose.
A glimpse of futures past: I can’t begin
To understand this mind of mine, so wild!
And still each night I let the devils in,
Till daylight finds me, weeping like a child.
I want so much to live without regret;
I fear that dreamless sleep eludes me yet.