silent night

New poem. At least insomnia's good for something. Will need revision, of course, but at least at 6:22 a.m. I've already done some creative writing for the day... I wish I could control the column width so the lines wouldn't wrap like they are, dropping the last word down. But then, there are a lot of things I wish.

silent night

the world lies silent and still, watchful with winter insomnia,
except the dog snoring at the foot of the bed, content in dreams.
silent watches of the night are never true, something always intrudes:
drip of faucet, wind stirring late autumn’s crisp husks of leaves
and the sound of my thoughts, trampling over and again through
my all-too-busy brain. what if, what if, what if, what if.
the world waits full of cruel possibilities, watchful of my careless steps,
waiting to drop the other shoe. the silent night
does not let me rest, the faucet echoes my relentless worry
over things I cannot control. keep the wind from rustling the leaves,
call the plumber I cannot afford, silence the mind from its fret and fears,
tell the people who think ill of me they are wrong. stop the sun, it rises soon.