Hrothgar at Night

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Hrothgar at Night

Crickets go still as headless corpses, stiffen 
the night with silence — 
  Beside you, Wealtheow 
breathes rhythmic breezes on your neck, but in 
the gulping throat of Grendel’s night it sounds 
to you like thirsty sighs.
You’ve dug the divet 
on the ceiling above your bed with sleepless stares, 
encased your hall in dream-tossed sighs, but it 
is not the roaming monster of the mere
that haunts your sleep.
It's sludging through you now, 
sinking its teeth in tired knees, clouding 
your mind with its poison breath. 
Last night, I found 
my first grey hair — I dug a divet of my own.

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