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Abstract
sleeps,</p><p id="6983">lips lie down</p><p id="5550">in gentle pastures,</p><p id="1399">vagrant cities weep</p><p id="d2e7">in the silent intervals</p><p id="d37d">between prayer and invocation.</p><p id="1677">Between roses and thorns.</p><p id="c3d5">There are no lords to</p><p id="840d">eat our bread or cops</p><p id="165b"
Options
to hold us ransom, only</p><p id="f4b8">starlings who sing us</p><p id="09d1">to sleep and every road</p><p id="3902">is holy. No cross weighs its</p><p id="fe83">heavy burden on my soul.</p><p id="3c86">Waters kiss the wounds of</p><p id="36a7">our internal empires and</p><p id="a19c">lull us back to sleep.</p></article></body>
A poem of sleep.
This is a sacred place
where water sleeps,
lips lie down
in gentle pastures,
vagrant cities weep
in the silent intervals
between prayer and invocation.
Between roses and thorns.
There are no lords to
eat our bread or cops
to hold us ransom, only
starlings who sing us
to sleep and every road
is holy. No cross weighs its
heavy burden on my soul.
Waters kiss the wounds of
our internal empires and
lull us back to sleep.
