The Daily Post prompt is: blank.
When the night is too loud and crowded,
and the air will not be still,
when the heat will not subside or the cold ease,
and even the cats fight among the chimney stacks,
I try to recall the emptiness of some other time that perhaps I knew,
when the world was a blank canvas, an empty screen,
and the humming and shrilling of other people’s problems
did not impinge on the gentle, rolling space inside my head.
Sleep, a river or an ocean, waveless and limpid,
laps behind some wall or cliff, all dark ripples and fizzing foam,
if only I could find it.
If only I could find it,
I would dive, as graceful as a gannet,
and skim the green depths, otter-like,