What do I know about what has been taken from me?
It is dangerous any more at this age to sleep for very long,
as I may awake not even recognizing myself.

Some part of me leaves without my permission,
departs into its own journey each night--
perhaps into the stars.
What is left open in the empty space
where I have been ribbed and robbed?
It appears as a widening of flesh
that seems to resist closing,
a sacred wound from on high places,
carved with a determined and prosperous hand.

What returns to me?
How it arrives
is the same amount of mystery that was taken.

I see someone beside me,
outside of me,
who requests that we be added to each other--
a blend that only much deep sleep can provide.

This has come to me for help;
to help with what I once thought I needed
and for what I knew had been taken from me.
Now it is apart from me and stands beside me,
I awake with the pain of a blessed departure
that has stirred inside of me.