Deep Night
births nightmares
skeletal stories…
Dissolution
churns,
chaos threatens
to unhinge.
Reversals confuse.
Slumbering trees
are barely breathing.
Ice freezes sound.
I must not
give in.
Facing
my tormenter
takes courage
and a willingness
to accept
fright,
uncertainty,
death
without flinching
(if not now
then sometime).
That I am only one
makes no difference.
If only I could
feel her moon rise
shattering blue ice
S/he could embrace us
regardless
of outcome…
Another story
could be written…
one in which a
haunted bear child
breathes deeply,
curls her furry body
against my belly.
As the moon slips
under the mountain
we drift through night air
into peaceful sleep…
Over The Edge and Beyond: Journal of a Naturalist 
A very interesting piece! The tormentor is most oftentimes the self itself.
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Yep – and I notice a correlation between tormenters on the inside and the state of our political system on the outside – very disturbing.
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