Sleeping granddaughter; now she's five and a blonde!
Mark Strand hasn't been dead a month, and I am looking at many things I never noticed before, like a small, square-shaped book of his called Chicken, Shadow, Moon and More. Each poem is built on a single word.
The sleep of the foot inside the shoe
The sleep of the shoe inside the dark of the closet
The sleep of the sun before it rises
The moon sleeps with its eyes open
Leaves sleep in the arms of mystery
A cloud will sleep within itself
The sleep of light is invisible
The sleep of meaning within a word
The sleep of madness inside of reason
The sleep of money inside the pocket
The lemon weeping for lack of sleep
The sleep of the future within the clock
The shadow cast by a star in the sleep of another star
The sleep of nakedness within desire
The sleep of desire in the flight of bees
February sleeps while June walks back and forth
The tired sleep of too much sleep
The sleep of the genius in her studio
The fluorescent sleep of a horse in the Peruvian midlight
The drummers have come but they are noiseless---
someone must be asleep
The grass of sleep covers the bones of the true
Sleep is always asleep
When sleep awakes, it forgets what it was
The knowledge if sleep is the knowledge of nothing
Sleep is a hole inside of the night
Chicken, Shadow, Moon and more,
Turtle Point Press, 2000. Pages 37-39
Out gang of four sleeping; now only the top one remains.
Interesting, don't you think so? No punctuation except one dash; structural variation and return, many different methods of attack on the idea of sleep. I think you had better work on this tomorrow. Mark Strand's book is still available.
Sometimes, one just can't help it.