Insomnia

Last night, lying awake at 3AM, my soul trembling with the angst and sorrow of our times, I turned, as I often do, to poetry, for wisdom and solace. As you may be aware, the great poet, Jack Gilbert, died last November at the age of 87, leaving behind a small but wonderful body of work. I opened his volume Refusing Heaven (from 2005), and read this:

HORSES AT MIDNIGHT WITHOUT A MOON

Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods.
Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt.
But there's music in us. Hope is pushed down
but the angel flies up again taking us with her.
The summer mornings begin inch by inch
while we sleep, and walk with us later
as long-legged beauty through
the dirty streets. It is no surprise
that danger and suffering surround us.
What astonishes is the singing.
We know the horses are there in the dark
meadow because we can smell them,
can hear them breathing.
Our spirit persists like a man struggling
through the frozen valley
who suddenly smells flowers
and realizes the snow is melting
out of sight on top of the mountain,
knows that spring has begun.


I didn't go back to sleep immediately, but my heart beat more gently after reading this, more hopefully, and I awoke this morning with the grace of this poem still with me.