The Warning

Before, morning came tapping,
A sharp repeated pain like a woodpecker.
Now this: dull in-wrapping of the brain,
Blanket dragged across the carpeted halls

Of sleep, and waking to a ragged-ribbon
Sky. If only there were more than night
To talk to, or a third to walk beside us -
But here is only veil and doubt

And the sound of water, spilling,
In the hollows, futility.