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The Seven Days of January: iii:

These nights are for TV shows and for books,

for late night drinks from kettles, not for sleep;

for midnight scholars and for midnight cooks,

while rodents feast, and spider scholars creep.

When sleep does come (for it must have its due),

a mitigated tenure does it take;

but thus is January’s gift to you:

your mindful wanderings ere you awake.

For these, the rest of sleep does not provide.

You may not, while unconscious, up and pace

as do you on this January-tide,

while cold has stopped the quickness of the race.

So, love these sleepless nights. Enjoy your mind,

where’er it takes you, and whate’er you find.

~~~

My cat still trembles to approach my side.

No sum of sweetness can replace that fear.

Of course, my instinct, too, would be to hide

from creatures of a size gulf so severe.

And I know trembling, too, tho not for size.

‘Tis those whose eyes are kindest that I dread.

So, too, no sweetness wins, from me, a prize,

as I hide from it anytime it’s shed.

To you who I shan’t name, but often see,

who sheds this sweetness liberally on me,

take not my trembling for disparity

in temperament—’tis not from you I flee.

But take my fearful heart and hold it fast

until, the love you show, it trusts at last.