The heart beats in its place

The digital clock glows
red behind its figures in the darkness
and silently enumerates the hours

The window is open
cool air drifting into the bedroom
a remote dogs bark staccato
echo off the further walls of houses

fainter still the whine
of distant lorries climbing
the incline
in low gear

Lying on my back (apparently)
makes me talk in my sleep
Is this the talking cure? The world
turns in its circles

The heart beats in its place