"Being and Nothingness"

A few more hours until I'm supposed to wake up and unfortunately I can't sleep. The night, the house, and even the crickets aren't breathing or it could very well be that I'm losing my hearing. I'm reminded for some strange reason of John Burnside and this haunting poem I used to love a long time ago:

"...the trees fill with heat,
the stations arrive at light
by a process of logic;
goat willow, birchwoods,
a cluster of dusty leaves,

then brickwork
and a street that aches for snow.
I never sleep on trains, I'd soon be lost
and how would I know myself
if not for the way you listen in your sleep
and find me,
turning,
waking,
drifting off; ..."