Sleep and I are strange bedfellows; true by Adrienne Jones
Insomnia has attacked me again. At least I’m in good company! (Today’s selection is from Walking Down the Street in the Spirit Place.
Sleep and I are strange bedfellows; true
By Adrienne Jones
Sleep and I are strange bedfellows; true,
We’ve made, for decades, our Lethean crossing
(On rare occasion, I am prone to tossing
Until the ferry’s gone) as many do;
Hand in hand we’ve yielded up the night
To Morpheus’ dark mirror; in its gleams
We parley in the lexicon of dreams
Whose wisdom cracks and shifts in morning light.
But there’s a place between the bank and deep,
A fragile state where I can sometimes hear
Tones of such aching sweetness and so clear—
“Are these the spheres in their majestic sweep,
Or—oh! Some angel, bright celestial dancer,
Sleep?” I entreat. He offers up no answer.
