Sleep Well

Sometimes at night the birds forget
what they are, how it works, and start to sing.
They can’t wait for the sun, or even
believe in it.

Sometimes the darkness begins to throb
with color that curls around your sleeping body,
a snake whose dream has wrapped around yours,
and starts to squeeze.

Sometimes you wake to a strange cry rising
from a familiar throat, and the moon in your window
sets aflame all the houses on your block
except your own.

Some nights the world revolves
beneath the sky, which revolves inside the mind
of God, whose every thought dissolves like
salt on your tongue.

Tonight, the birds are sleeping.

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