ARE David Constantine's owls real night visitants or imagined ones?

Whichever, they are important companions of his restless sleeping hours. The poem is in Elder, the latest collection from this prolific poet, translator, and short story writer (Bloodaxe, £9.95).

OWLS

Wake hearing owls, wake certain

My poor sleep long I have been listening

To the owls calling across me. O my ghostly

Insistent conductors through the shoals of sleep

To the borders here, thus far

No further, go back now

Into the darkness, do not be seen

While I crawl into the workaday fret, while I

Shift badly in the glare of noise

Let me believe you keep yourselves safe in the dark

At the back of my head, my pilots

Sounding across me, calling and answering.