Begin like a wingless raven
composing the dark terrain.
with its narrow margins,
its teeth, trying to fit
the grip of language.
And you never
see it coming, a whisper
combustible as hope.
The sky emptying
its bottle of reasons.
You never see
this love poem
universe with its
Sleep, doubtís bright heaven.
Tea of memory, sleep, always unreasonable.
Ionic skin like mica over the water.
Sleep receding like a river devoid of questions.
Elegant as the dance of werewolves.
Nothing bends, nothing is saved.
Formless, dwindling along its axis.
All at once full of somedays and nothing
and no one but the cat scratching door jambs.
Build nests, tear labels from bottles, disguise
everything in your way.
Everywhere is a nest, and nowhere do we grow immune.
Metronomes sway and tick, freeways bridge and gap
where all our metaphors begin.
As they blow through the sleeves of nightgowns.
Sleep the collapsing daydream, the busted sonnet.
The one crooked tooth in this universe.
Immortal and grieving like no other.
Sleep banging out license plates in silence
restless as anonymity.
A fossil to the wind.
Nothing is ever white.
Your tiptoe, your sure step, the hemlock just a fern.
Skull in pyjamas waiting an eternity to laugh.
When we soulless dead awaken
when events mingle and overtake us
knowing ice lies ahead
When the danger we court is in ourselves
when life continues like shadows on the screen
when it continues long after the heart stops
When sleep is poison, paralyzing every muscle
when someone has cracked open our hollow bodies
when we have given away our minds
When the sentence ends with a comma and will not let go
when we rake the grounds at our own funeral
and sweep that dust behind the corners
When our hollow bodies contain nothing except space
when space has room for everything that we desire
when desire grows, slowly at first, like the reluctant seed
When the seed splits the world
and it falls like a feather
like the soul, heavy as a star
from Story (Tebot Bach