Melancholy & Missing Lighters

 I wander all night in my vision, Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping, Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers, Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted, contradictory,  Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping. How solemn they look there, stretched and still! How quiet they breathe, the little children in their cradles! The wretched features of ennuyés, the white features of corpses, the livid faces of drunkards, the sick-gray faces of onanists, The gashed bodies on battle-fields, the insane in their strong-doored rooms, the sacred idiots, The new-born emerging from gates, and the dying emerging from gates, The night pervades them and infolds them. Poem Taken from: Walt Whitman , American Poet, 1819 - 1892 Cousineau, Phil (editor).  Burning the Midnight Oil: Illuminating Words for the Long Night's Journey into Day.  Viva Editions, 2013.

 Tropical showers--  Underneath your rustling tarp I'm slowly drowning

S ick on my journey, Only my  dreams  will  wander These  desolate  moors . . . Matsuo Basho (1644 - 1694) Edo Period   Taken from:  Basho's death poem . Basho's Death Poem  by  Matsuo Basho. (2011, May 13). Retrieved  December 8, 2022, from https://www.poetry.com/poem/27153/basho's-death-poem

... In Memory of Freddy ... The city left patches of beige on the bridge by the tracks; They are faint, but our tags and messages can still be read, My friend says that one of them belongs to someone now dead; My friend then retraces them all, Ink placing a curse on the wall.