Tuesday, July 26, 2011


Your gravity, your grace have turned a tide
In me, no lunar power can reverse;
But in your narcolpetic eyes I spied
A sightlessness tonight: or something worse,
A disregard that made me feel unmanned.
Meanwhile, insomniac , I catch my breath
To think I saw my future carved in sand
One afternoon 'as still, as carved, as death',
And pray for an oblivion so deep
It ends in transformation. Only dawn
Can save me, flood this haunted house of sleep
With light, and drown the ghosts that nightly warn:
"Another lifetime is the least you'll need, to trace
The guarded secrets of her gravity, her grace."

--- Jonathon Coe - 'The House of Sleep'

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