The Surface of Sleep

602.

Image by Franz Bachinger from Pixabay

I skim the surface of sleep with my toes.

I am a butterfly, a moth, a shadow.

Sleep is a deep lake, stocked with monsters

And also roses and people and packing dreams

Where I’m anxiously trying to pack suitcases

And I know it won’t fit.

Actually in reality I’m quite good

At packing suitcases because my father

Taught me how and I’ve done it a lot.

But in my dreams I’m not and often

I’m packing to go to a concentration camp

Or a war.

Now I’m hang-gliding above the lake of sleep,

Enjoying the sunlight and sparkle of ripples.

What will I do when I’m over the sea,

Over the dark water, over the bitter waves,

What will I do when I’m hunted by stars,

When the sleep I’m skimming over

Is permanent.

~~~

A Famine of Horses:: Sir Robert Carey series #1