In the Third Sleep

by Kate Cayley

(after Kay Sage)

 

I did not remember the first sleep. 

Airlifted from the other place

where all sleep is collected and sorted 

into regulatory shapes. Cloth, paper.

 

In the third sleep, I needed to find the first,

approaching from the lower end, on hands

and knees. It was slow going because of the sand:

every speck had to be collected from my skin

or I would damage the surface as I climbed.

 

Like so much else, it only looks impermeable. 

 

I was naked. The sand was very hot. A body

has so many folds, so much secretion. Finally

I was able to begin crawling. 

The grey was less hot, but not cool

and I hoped for wind, at the further height

 

if I could make it past the sails, obviously

placed to trick me into thinking I was finished.

 

That first sleep was concealed in the paper shapes,

 

difficult to unfold. The words are so small.

 

The paper granulates into sand as you read.

 

When you’ve finished reading you’ll know,

whether or not you want to.