"How Good Sleep Sounds" (7-Minute NaPoWriMo Poem for April 28)

How Good Sleep Sounds




to the unimpaired. Those little tics
that punctuate the day, those minor faces
of despair wearing away the cement
of our care. The sound of breakers
in one stomach. The tuba of nightmares
blaring through the chorus. The fine aria
of children spinning away into meadows
of bones, the spattered remains of their
fields. A parent's midnight striking
the finite hours, hoping for a dream,
the miracle mile of the sudden rested.
How good sleeps sounds, the waves of nostalgia
rocking the most distant heart. Have
a pillow. Halve it into pleasure and pain,
the dual mask of the dead. All voices
now coming into shadow. A part of the giant
mystery, the sexual coming --
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I remember you
how you loved in that moment, glad-hearted
to be bedded, the sleep in your sip,
the wine in your eyes, that glossy effect,
the post of your arms around me. How good
that sleep now sounds.



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written in 7 minutes for National Poetry Writing Month for April 28

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