when I am barely there,
awake nearly and turn
back in toward sleep
all yellow-black,
and

and when my brain twitches
dogwise
in the yellow-black motes and
it’s Sunday morning
in the place
where my brain is choosing
                                                       sleep

in that place my brain it will
pivot
through the globe and scheme of all things;

wheel and vector the whereabouts
of where about you might be
in its

(little globe
                        and
     little scheme)

and just there below sleep it will

pivot


about your smell,
there where it seeps up--

it will pivot
                  about you,          still
for you are--                  still
the music

and the fulcrum. still

                                  of my sleep

-dc