I sometimes think about
how many nights in my life that I have
fallen asleep.
Every night at some point.
Thousands of them.
And so few,
so very few
am I aware
of that moment
when sleep overcomes me.
I am awake; then awake again.
Somewhere between those points
I have slept.
And dreamt.
There are rare days though,
that I can feel myself
suspended,
between those two worlds.
Caught.
Not quite awake.
Not quite asleep.
The drifting.
It's delicious.
There is no control over it.
It happens or it doesn't.
Precarious.
The smallest thing
jolts me back
into this world.
I think I don't let go enough.
I seem to be always hanging on
way too tight.
Hanging on
to the day, to consciousness.
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