No One Sleeps
(after Puccini)

James Whitley


Through my window’s dark frame,
the moon, piebald victim of loss herself,
poses for her pale portrait.

She knows the tragedy dawn can bring,
like a delayed answer, coming finally,
that one is still not prepared to receive

And though bleary-eyed and unclear who,
in heaven or just the apartment above,
might hear this shrill pleading and
unsure who would even care, I confess,
I want only you.

But you knew that already, didn’t you?
And yet you’re not here

And, sure, a head is a small price to pay
for even the mere chance at the journey.

And, yes, I know these hearts are reusable
and surprisingly easy to repair, given time.

And I know the sun will rise at dawn no matter
how long and dominant this night seems now

But that is little comfort as I lie awake
here, kicking the ghosts of regret away,
almost drowning in this vast empty bed
full of moonlight and my restless fear

My frigid princess, do you care?
Did you ever?