Bravely (it seems to me) you
close your eyes, as if never doubting
that the world remains
visible, even though you yourself see now
only side-effects of sight.
What you can’t see is that it has
begun to snow, hard, as if to fulfill
a prophecy of fatal winter and its fierce foul
frost. But we have this enclosure, a space
set apart from the inhuman cold outside.
It always amazes me, how much
sleep you need, and get. And with what
ease sleep takes you, evening out your
breathing as in the most spiritual
exercises.
Just past midnight, I’m securely
awake, the hour of my birth arriving
with a wicked downdraft. These rooms, at not
quite room temperature, support a thought of green
lawn, croquet parties, seasons gradually
turning the house around. We wait
for it to happen. And it seems to me that
anyone who sleeps, sleeps heroically, trusts
unreasonably that something will
come again, out of nothing.
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