Still Asleep


peaceful, just like real soft light
right before the full sunrise.
like a slow touching warmth
on my bared shoulder
underneath the sun --
the heat of the morning
warming the roundness of
the curve of my arm.

you were there,
breathing slowly,
asleep. your

butterfly eyelashes
fluttered at the
window of your dreams --
your thoughts humming
in some unknown sequence. i saw

you reach out to the warmth
with both arms
in a stretch towards
the new light, your
eyes still closed. but you
smiled
and rolled over
underneath a
mountainous snow-capped sheet,

the sun at your back.
seems as if it should have
convinced you
(like a heated argument)
to rise and get busy.

the sun touched you
only once
before you tried
to awaken.

but you
(you-fly-away-
bird-still-asleep-
in-bed)
closed your eyes
again.

as if light
had not bidden you,

had not begged
or beckoned
your gentle attention --
even hours ago
when you asked
the beginnings of the
daylight to let you go,
to let you go,
not to tempt your
dreams --

fluttering until
it had hopefully captured
the cocoon of
your sleep, wrapped
tightly around you --
and raised you up
for the tide of the day . . .

like the thousands
of things you
might have wanted to do.

you would not
wake up, no.

no, not
for a song from me,
nor for the stark
light of the afternoon.

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