Thank you for the tag Wildwood Writer

The last line in my poem is your first line. Not haiku.

I lie awake and let the night name me.

~~

I lie awake and let the night name me.

.

No.

.

Night has no business naming.

.

I name myself: awake, grinding,

the woman whose knuckles

argue with resin

at hours reserved for

the reasonable.

.

Copal releases

what it held-

centuries of pressure

becoming smoke.

I understand the process.

.

The dog next door

barks morse code.

I translate: you're still up

you're still up

you're still-

.

Yes.

.

Someone in Athens once told me

insomnia was romantic.

He was an idiot.

Also: bad in bed.

.

The ceiling fan clicks.

I count rotations.

Lose track at forty-seven.

Start over.

.

The vials won't arrange themselves.

The copal won't grind itself.

.

By 6 AM the resin's

fine enough.

My hands shake.

Could be caffeine.

Could be three decades

of this.

.

The Athens idiot

probably sleeps well.

Good for him.

Tagging Sissitrix