What You Dread, You Hope For, What You Get

Hard to say. They sound like some
One in pain. It stops. The pulse

That comes from a well-built pump
Beats time through the walls all night.

Now and then it stops. The pain
In the chest as well. The two

Have no link. The mind craves links.
The mind is a nest of links,

But it’s its own map, not the world’s.
It starts. Time to get some rest.