Sleep
As a clogged fire smoulders
wrestling with its latency
until from somewhere,
kindle catches
and flame is born
so the transition
from restlessness
to the blaze of sleep
bw
I had two more lines at the end:
and soon
the lawless cinema of dreams
but a local poet friend, Ross Gillett, to whom I showed this, suggested
truncating it to just eight lines as above. Any thoughts, poetryetcers?
Bill
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