Triple layered against reality,
In bags of refuge we calculate
Our days, miles, times zones,
Phases of the moon
To find resolve in
What is done and yet to do.
Imagine Golden Gate,
In steely span and mist,
New York, St Katharine's Dock,
Those waiting arms and breasts.
Wrestling minds challenge their
Chosen suffering and brace themselves
Against to call to wake,
Relentless inner grind in
Unnatural hours of watchfulness.
Dig deep, crawl out, respond;
Wrench arms in rubbery sleeves,
And stiffened silence.
