A Dead Crab

The grandfather clock solemnly struck two. In the pitchy night, shadows seem to flit about. I close my red rimmed eyes tight Yet I can see all around me for sleep eludes me. I lie on my bed like a dead crab on the hot sand, not daring to move lest sleep evades me. I imagine phosphorescent planes flying over fallow fields: This is not a night dream that conducts to slumber. For dreams can be soothing, this is anything but. Almost dark despair as my tired eyes are wide awake. I shut my eyes and imagine red full blown sails weaving their way in a rubicund sunset towards their berthing quays. How quick they arrive and I am sleepless. I think of you, dazzling and lovely, covered in golden sand....like the crab. No, no this does not work much for me. The grandfather clock struck six. Did I miss a beat? Did I sleep? I don't know, I feel like the dead crab.