A Glimmer

I close my eyes

As a matter of faith,

Or is it just weariness?

Sometimes it is a tunnel

Of love with wet dreams

Lit large with moonlight,

Sometimes it is the dark

Dungeon of sweat dreams.

Then sometimes there is

The echo chamber babbling

Streams of consciousness.

It is inhabited, full of creatures

Of the night, goblins, ghosts,

Bats, and owls who haunt,

Preying on those who

Seek shelter in slumber.

I feel and channel their eyes

Watching, wide open, moving

Rapidly, with each toss or turn.

Night is a shaft with beams

Shoring up the black hole

Descending to where the soul

Is mined. I seek and follow

Veins, digging, drilling, waking,

Hoping to strike some motherlode

So as to assay a precious mettle

There in the dark, deep empty.

The night leaks light at the seams.

It is with wariness I open my eyes,

Dry them, squint—and breathe.

Bruce Morton splits his time between Montana and Arizona. His volume of poems, Simple Arithmetic and Other Artifices, was published in 2015. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in various magazines and anthologies including, most recently, Muddy River Poetry Review, Mason Street Review, Main Street Rag, Nixes Mate Review, Grey Sparrow Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, Sin Fronteras/Writers Without Borders, and Blue Unicorn. He was formerly Dean of Libraries at Montana State University.