Nightmare Dance

You plateau for a moment, 

put sleep aside,

consider if return to the herding pen is feasible,

to the collective snores of the blessed. 

But the plateau is sharp,

there’s a perpendicular drop 

from the edge of the platform.

You till your tiny plot,

you escape 

by the steep 

cliff-hanging 

path, 

you reflect in the sun

for this brief interlude.

But the bears 

are there to dance,

right 

on the edge, 

you conduct the cavorting 

into the late hours. 

Forget about return,

you’re out alone 

on your plateau, 

no sleep herd feasible, 

no further rest 

achievable.

At the top of the summit 

spectators 

clap, 

applauding

the hundreds 

of isolated plateaus 

vertically aligned.

You’re not 

alone. 

That’s your only consolation.

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Cover photo by Bernadetta Watts