Against Sleeplessness

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If one breathes through the hole in breath, there is a space that is the light seen through that breath. If one is a body, there is a tomb for remembrance, hands to open the memories, memories to hold the hands open to receive unsearched-for gifts. There are footfalls whose finesse is the delicate work of stumbling. There is rectitude, and there is walking, and that their twinned equity’s meet and touch is what we call for, is our calling, is a step away from the voice that grows in proportion to remembrance. It is a spirit’s gland, a corm, a root keeping its blind weight to one side, its sighted weight to the other.