It is 05:24 when the bells begin to call us for Vigils
I have not had the best of night's sleep
I dreamt, many times, of being confused
In the rearrangement of my poetry
And I do, quite-literally, mean, seeing the text
On the page, and trying to move it from one place to another place
Mostly it was to no avail, because more often than not
The words decided that they did not wish to be moved
I woke early, at just after 04:30 British Summer Time
I spent quite some time massaging my arm
Feeling for the aching parts, stretching out the muscles
And manipulating the tissue, as if somehow to aid the circulation
I do hope that my elbow is going to get better
At least I do have the feeling, and I am able to massage
And to write, about my visit to the Abbey at Buckfast
Or at Buckfastleigh, as many of the words deign to say
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