Sleep
By Judy Kronenfeld
May you fall into it
groggy and disheveled as a baby
who lets go of his mother's
nipple with a thwuck—head lolling,
cowlicks sticking up,
lips open and glistening.
May you fall into it
like a drunk keeling
over onto his own stoop,
having staggered the last possible
step on his slog from the bar.
May you not stand alone
on the shore at 3 A.M.,
longing to extricate yourself
from the gritty sand
of consciousness, when everyone
you know has been swept out
by the sea of sleep.
May you reclaim once or twice
the gauze-fine sleep of childhood—
calmly gliding from flickering shadow
to light, from flickering light
to shadow, like a punt
on a tree-lined river.
And may your last be utterly
black and quiet,
and last forever.
Source: http://judykronenfeld.com/
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