On Waking

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Sleep sweeps your forehead

a clear line from this to that time

each of your dreams chosen and

unhooked from its place in the resemblance

inhaled – waking in you, resting.

 

And in your sleep your dreams might dance

toss their bright lights and memories about

call to you in all their voices, geographies

and unfoldings.

 

What are these creases?

Is that why you cry on waking –

your own voice a trembling cleft

mimicking the ones you knew?

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