From Sleep
Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale, nor discarded.
Walt Whitman
I imagine you
are sleeping I imagine you are
waking I imagine
you are muscled as muscled as any
cephalopod urgently called
forward along the bottoms of small
foreign spots: now glassless (I
imagine the pressure, don't you?) port
-holes key discretely re
-maining and all the sea
easing in and out as freely
as sleep. Tucked each and all
in our own houses of skin
our leg muscle seizes
we reach to relieve
to press and knead
(see: beneath the femur
a liberated fibula)
above our feet that in
our sleep as in our day
lays straight and stays
our standing straight
I imagine you
waking and taking
the heal of your hand
to your stiff calf (mass
age) (mass
age)
squeezing sleep
easing, after being beneath...or please
let me.
No comments:
Post a Comment