Confusions In The Night Realm Poem by Daniel Brick

I

I have no use for a blanket,
however beautifully it would
wrap itself around my dreams.
I have Night itself to shelter me:
I am more likely to be broken or
lost than cold. I just imagine
my ancient past as a hairy beast,
grunting rather than complaining,
and immediately I feel animal
warmth rise and spread through
every joint and crevice of my body.
As for that concern of so many
waking hours, human loneliness,
the Night is older than the need
for another. Dreams themselves are
a bother! Remember Adam's dream of
Eve, or rather forget it. You have
no further need for its sentimental
trap. You have the Night's Panorama.
It has replaced both warmth and companionship.

II

Another part of me does not surrender
to the Night despite its immemorial
sway. Should I awake before dawn
and feel the stab of lost loves,
I am plunged into the Sympathy of Things.
I wonder how many preventable sorrows
are poised on the edge of being realized,
as I sleep in oblivious pleasure? What if
I stay awake and tighten my resolve, will
my vigilance stop a sorrow before it finds
a final niche from which to launch its
dream of fulfillment? My cry in the Night
is ever, Let me help! Let me do good!

Lately, I have been exploring the mixed
condition of half-sleep and half-wakefulness.
Which will prevail? Have I any control?
Often I cannot hold the balance and I tumble
deep into the Night Realm, and all is oblivion.
But I sense I am getting stronger, and shafts
of the Day Realm shoot past me and illuminate
the depths. And Day and Night are equally benign.