January 9, 2008 – Warm, cloudy. Going to the Adirondacks for a hospice visit today. Writing in the morning. Woke up at 5 a.m. and wrote another poem:

                                           MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

                                         In the middle of the night,

                                         There is memory,
                                          for me

                                          When the wind whistles
                                          outside my windows

                                          When the rooster
                                          crows
                         
                                          When the shadows flicker
                                           on the wall
                                           and in my head

                                           In the middle of the night
                                         
 
                                           There is faith
                                           and sometimes only that

                                            In the middle of the night
                                            when the quiet roars
                                            and you may forget

                                            When the dog sighs
                                            and the shadows skitter

                                             In the middle of the night
                                             there is memory
                                             for me.