Some adults with insomnia

by Carmen Germain Issue: Spring 2016
are afraid of the dark,
which resembles Snakemouth,
orchid with a solitary rose-purple flower.
In the dark 2.5 times more plastic

floats in the ocean
than anyone realizes, Spanish
researchers discover the place
where Caesar was stabbed, bats

worldwide avoid moonlight.  We twist
in our bed sheets, blankets bunched,
pillows flipped, clocks flashing,
dwarf galaxy NGC consuming a smaller

dwarf galaxy.  Blake thought birds caged
and hanging in windows were metaphors
for people.  All night I watch light
that took 13 billion years to reach Earth

where Scalabrini’s noseless lemur
is found to be a fish,
mosquito fossils glow in amber.
Did Otzi the ice mummy meet death

in the Alps over 5300 years ago because
of Lyme disease? Under Chairman Mao
The Fragrance of Sweet Wind restaurant
was renamed The Whiff of Gunpowder.

Oh sleepless, the world is too much
with us.  But when it snows in Indochina
people bow to the rice filling the fields.

Carmen Germain

Carmen Germain is the author of These Things I Will Take with Me (Cherry Grove).  She has recent work in Poet Lore and The Comstock Review; work is forthcoming in Fifth Wednesday and Harpur Palate.  She lives in Washington state and in northern British Columbia.