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Waking is a directive issued
From the intestine. For at
The heart of waking is an
Idea, and it is like an
Engine idling on remnants
Of fuel. Like a short fire
That flares in a candlelit
Space and is oxygen-starved
From its commencement and
Cannot hold itself for long.
Waking is a directive so
Fragile it is consumed in
A further sleep or forgotten
In consciousness. For one
May not be conscious of the
Memory of sleep. At first
The self is like an elegant
Apparatus that tends upon
The fuel of the will. But
It can fold into the arms
Of sleep once more, where
Its congruence will become
A rhetoric, and yet sound
Softly like the voice of an
Unseen speaker present in a
Darkened room. The promise
Of late sleep is consciousness.
On waking into a full power
The structure of one's self
Is ratified and the hollow
Contortions of will and form
Begin, darkness left aside.