The Sleep
I am naked on our bed,
upright, pre-slept,
at the gracious request
of my funked body:
It asks, politely,
at first with a flicker
across my eyelids,
felt as light tremors,
then it rudely produces
enormous weights,
conjurer’s tricks,
strapped to my arms,
followed by an elephant –
it places that, too easily,
across my bared chest:
Now I am breathless,
on awkward pillows,
on those between knees;
I claim this space
for my night’s reprise.