It Wasn't a Comfortable Night

A poem.

It wasn't a comfortable night

I kept waking
Building up the fire
Wondering where my dreams went
Running out of wood
Wandering around looking for more
And despite all that
Never moving some little rocks and twigs
That stuck me in the side no matter
how I turned
But I lay there
Sometimes thinking, mostly cold
Till first dawn when I drifted off
And had a little sleep
Then woke with the sunlight coming
on my face
Tired enough I lay there free from the
soreness of rocks and twigs
And mindful of nothing more than the sun
Its light fractured by the grove of
trees above
Giving only
An indication of motion and time
– John Culbertson