Just last night, in fact. A song in praise of one of my favorite things:

20 August 2015


Sometimes Sleep Comes Through

You’re going to make me feel weary come morning, you old stolen blanket, you cold stripe of air
that leans to the far other side where the wall meets the floorboards and scurrying—that happens there.
Old man, your shoulders are bones and they break through the little soft walls I’ve erected of sheets.
Now I’m just bound to wake up rife with bruises. Soft night winds, and then—subtle music repeats
Reel it all out, and from padded seats watch it. Walk down the river outside, then come in.
Watch it again from within your memorial launch; steer your boat; make a new wake begin
as you set out to sea with the magic your most blessed birth showed your mother, till—she showed you ill.
Raise your sad wet salty eyelids, and see with the both of your eyes you are beautiful still,
and ever more beautiful each time you move through a series of changes that all dance like weeds
a river runs through with the cold mountain clarity oceans rise to as they fill strangers’ needs.
So much confusion, such heaps of black midnight cast forth where we’ll claim it and make it come true,
and then the next landscape where layers of gardens come spiralling out of love’s last dream of you,
and then. I am woken. I’m weary. I’m still holding onto the steel at the end of the grave,
staring toward the tight-closed wooden casket in which death lies waiting for song’s love to save
the bright hours of everything lyrical, magical, splendid with why I still live here with you—
And then we down tools out of time and time’s reasons, and sleep comes so kind—Sometimes sleep sings you through..


About J

formal verse poetry and commentary at
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