Skip to main content


ISSUE:  Spring 1984

A sleeper
purifies a room.

With each inhalation
the bed rises higher,

with each exhalation
less dust,
more perfection.

A vigil light
reflects through bone;

sleep coats
the slightest irritant
with nacre.

Now, in a kind of counter-levitation,
the bed
is sinking into earth.

The sleepers pull their roofs down
for a quilt,

With every breath the moon
swells brighter,

their nakedness begins
to flower,

leave imprints on their skin.


By submitting this form, you accept the Mollom privacy policy.

Recommended Reading