Sunday, July 22, 2012

Lucid in Sleep

[Composed by the late William T. Moore (d. 1974) and found among the many boxes of treasured items kept by his wife Claire (d. 2011). It was handwritten on the back of a utility bill dated November 15th, 1956.] 

I am awake now, Claire, after hearing you say:
Tomorrow will bring but another day.
You uttered these words from where you lay
with eyes open wide to see.

Before I could respond, you fell back asleep
(if indeed you had even emerged from sleep)
leaving me wakeful, my vigil to keep
with eyes open wide to see.

I am thinking of what I had wanted to say:
that each morning brings us a better day,
but I see from your face you are now far away
without eyes open wide to see.

You are sleepwalking through the halls of your mind,
through twilight and shadows, hoping to find
something you lost for which you have pined,
keeping eyes open wide to see.

The shadow-shapes shift across these walls
as the bright round moon quietly crawls
across the sky, with a light that falls
on my eyes open wide to see.

You, in your slumber, are now quiet and still;
I remove my vigil to the windowsill.
Tonight, whether I want to or not, I will
have eyes open wide to see.

The grey light of dawn will soon stir you awake
and furnish us with gifts of time we can take.
But stay lucid in sleep this night for your sake
as I keep eyes open wide to see.

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