My head lay stiffly on my insomnia-soaked pillow
and my eyes bored into the ceiling which I could
see because the moon was awake too.
I looked up as always and thought about sheep
climbing fences and bleating with the strain
or grazing on ancient Scottish farmland swamped
in a soupy fog, like that day my family and I stood
on Hadrian’s ruined wall (now just Roman stones
strewn unlawfully about) as sheep roamed nearby.
I hopped over from England to Scotland and back
and shouted, “I’m in England! I’m in Scotland!”
I was not tired then as I was now, nor did I
have to look at the obnoxious monotony of a ceiling.
In the skeletal silver light I heard soft voices outside
on the grass beneath my window.
Murmurings of a female and a male together.
I leaned closer into the sound but could not distinguish
words or even him from her.
I raised myself and went to the
window into the moonlight and the whisperings
below and saw two silhouettes looking at one another.
It was quiet as they kissed and I could hear nothing.
And moments later I was asleep on my pillow.