Even if sleep is death’s diminutive
we will not concede it could maim,
though for some the hanging
moment that opens between waking
life and the descent towards morning
whispers a terminating sentence.
And when sleep looms
draped in gallows’ humor
to suspend the spine,
in the night we grow taller,
nodding, already unconscious
of the boots dropped on the floor
in the evening prior
and the greater distance to fall
as we follow them.
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