Inquisitions begin the moment
the head hits the pillow.
Night breeds thoughtfulness
that flow day obscured
with distractions,
eddies and ripples
in the stream of life.
The judges take their places
around the perimeter,
gavels and briefs in hand
questioning the mind
with words spoken, left unsaid
omissions and things left undone.
Sleep, a distant dream.
The tossing, pillow adjusting
signs of bad conscience,
Promises to do better,
plans for the future
abstractions for a new day
made, contemplated, shuffled.
Night grows in secrets.
The cacophony at the edge of dreaming
starts when the judges clatter
into their chambers
to determine the sentence.
Decisions roughing the limn,
the descent quickens,
the bottom nearing.
Inquest over the body
moves into slumber;
a moment of peace
before guilt rushes in
and insomnia pounces.
Revenant, the patient gasps
turns over, winces.
Interrogations end at dawn.
Lessons unlearned
The day lurches forward.
The judges, silent,
maintain watch.
