Thursday, August 18, 2011


Poem Made of Sleep


Lower your limbs into it
like a bath, your spine repeating
the blue wave of your lashes.
A tear made of the day
escapes onto your cheek
like the slow start of rain
and your fingers curl slightly.
Around what? The street sounds
outside your window fade away,
also refusing to be held.
This is the moment
you are most
alone, listening to
the systems inside you, your thudding
blood, chest rising and falling,

each breath stretching like a yawn.
There's no fear of the numbness
that creeps through you now,
 let it come,
loosening muscle, thinning thought.

Let it tell you what you already know,

in symbols and signs and implausibles.
At this hour, your mind
talks in riddles
and the language is
a mystery
you cannot hold past the moment

you tunnel up through the very dreams
that traveled so far to touch you.


No comments: