sleep II

a comfortable bed

made up of

all the loose ends

left untied

they are bundled together

into a soft nest

in which my heart finds

peace and rest.

and roots

from oaks uprooted

i make my bed in them

and in the shelter

of trees still upright.

the mix of uprooted

and rooted

is only really

a healthy garden.

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sleep

 

my eyes

soft, pressing heavy

like layers of winter blankets, throws

a down comforter folded

twice over.

if i could close them,

surely i would drift

like a small wooden boat

on the still

of a hidden lake

embraced in fog and dawn

and distant calls 

of a lark and loon.