Otherwordly Sleep

“You are not alone in feeling alone,”
moaned the pale-faced crone
in the wilds of defeat,
a living shadow in solemn retreat
with the smell of old age against white sheets.

Lost in a deep otherworldly sleep
with distant sounds of voices and hounds,
she shrieks anxiety from nervous sources
seeing disasters of natural forces.

A mad little kite shouts wordlessly
into the night, a terror-struck song
of revelatorious sights
rolling through centuries of predatorial fright.

Feeling the vertigo at the edge of deep time,
unable to claim her foothold in rhyme
from the darkness and wisdom
of metaphysical crimes.