Coming out of, or going into, sleep
Is paradise. Dreams from sleep are the dreams I keep.
Sleep’s dreams are not the only benefits of sleep.
When I approach my rest, the descent is steep,
Reminding me I am looking down at the sun—
When I see the sun at the top of the sky.
My position is reversed. I don’t know why.
In my sleep, I will see the one, the only one,
I love. Sleep’s dreams strip me of the sun.
Sleep’s dreams strip me completely
Of life: all that crowd clowned randomly
In the vast downward gulf of my eye,
But deep in the sinews of flying poetry
Bold sleep gathers. Wasting no time
Before the broad door,
I slept as if I were not going to sleep anymore.
Reasons, whether she knew them, or not,
Why she stopped loving me, who cares?
Reasons are for fools. Love belongs to the one who dares.
She runs away in life because she loves me.
So rare: the steady and the beautiful:
The twinkling star:
Always there, and gently moving.
It’s like a dream. Sleeping in sleep’s soft car,
Traveling through the universe very fast,
Without finally getting there, at last.
Coming out of sleep, don’t wake me yet.
I fell asleep during the sunset.
The roof of the house is warm and wet.
Fading softly out of slumber: this way, too, is steep.
I cannot remember why I had to rise.
I want to sleep during the sunrise.
More dreams. More sleep.
Awake, I weep.