Insomnia

(written when I lived in a very old house.)

I lie in bed
and hear the creaking
of the tired old beams
settling for the night.
Weary,yet restless,I can not sleep.
I slide from my bed
and open the window.
The night clutches at my skin
with icy fingers.
I see half a moon and  millions of stars.
Nothing moves,the air is still.
I think I can smell the river.
I feel I am out of sync
like a badly dubbed film.
Thoughts refuse to form in my brain
so I stand and wait
for the pink fingers of Dawn
to grasp the sky.