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
