Channel Crossing in a High Heat

after Matthew Arnold

The clock is loud tonight.
The tick is thick, the tock athwart
my sheeted consciousness. I climbed on board
impressed to sail to heated dreams. I rock in port
trapped by discurrent tides, grinding on the pebbles
of wakefulness. Endlessly I turn and toss.
My soul strikes sail.
                                   Ah, love!
let us sleep in separate beds this summer
and by this respect, depart this waking state
newly engineered
to tunnel into dark forgetfulness
where flash trains feel their way through
privileged blackness
and ignorant lorries pass by night.

© Mary Cresswell