What Sleep Is This?

Issue EightIssue Eight PoetryPoetry

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By Jill Jones


What remains of us at night

The weight of respiration

the insects we swallow

the division of thought into

chemical haze


Far off there are holdfasts

lee shores, maybe an anchor

or a compass

Leaves disturb the concrete

while my eyelashes quiver


What memory might be dug up

by wind or an earth tremor

a lost goodbye on a path

as clouds move

in and out of the suburb


A breeze fumbles over

old cottages

and mansions

There’s a band of stars

aching above the backyard


A succession of vehicles

roars away or comes too close

I don’t know if this is

a night dream

or a morning dream


Some nights collude with

the galaxy’s old glow

They can be remote

as indifference

or have metal and darkness