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
What are these creases?
Is that why you cry on waking –
your own voice a trembling cleft
mimicking the ones you knew?