The Headache

So many fragments catching
light of the unseen sun make
like pins at the undersides of
my brow. I shudder - seek to
refuge for the inmost cellars as
the lighthouse taking storm.
Amidst the singing of the gale
and rousing foundation, in
this harrow-mounted minute,
I wait.

For navy velvet night.
For anything.
With much exertion,
I wait.