Sleep

There are nights that are patiently visible.

On terrace roofs ,in clinging gates. Elbows sticking out wide.

Uncluttered poise. Soaked raindrops growing into sweat beads.

I lapse into the bed-roll, with littered ambitions.

Above your ideas and below your words,

there is so little distance that remains

to question your being. That you stay awake for inking clouds and count out stars. Here, to grow is to dream living.To move is to feel. It was a no blues Monday.

To know is to sleep.