light snow in moonlight falling,
a glowing fog outside the window.
Is it you I should be calling?
For whose sake?
I resist the tossing & turning,
at least on the outside,
yet my brain cells are burning,
decide and then undecide.
Spinning, whirling, straight, then curling,
only to return to square one and start the process over again,
and again, and then again.
Not easy to be poetical at three a.m. plus,
knowing I need to rise in a few short hours.
They are passing like slugs in sand,