Writing poetry in the middle of the night because reflux is keeping you awake has its nuances, especially when you are on retreat with several mutual mentors who are also therapists!
Here’s the poem:
Phantoms of the night
Gather around my bed
Whispering anxieties and “what ifs”
They scoff at my commands of dismissal
So perhaps I should befriend them
“No way,” they say, and disappear into the ether.
A remaining question to ponder: are those so gathered angels or demons?