1978
I sit up, breathless from daydream apnea, having realized Pegasus beneath me nothing more than a wooden rocking horse; the battle cries of entire armies now two unhappy parents.
* * *
Sleep amid absolute silence and absence of light requires imagination uninterrupted. A rhythmic glow, the heartbeat of an inhaled cigarette; a minor sound, the occasional whimper to stir the quietude.
* * *
I ask her one night, “How do we fall asleep?”. She turns the covers, and the lamp; I imagine a switch inside my head and flip it. “I’m still awake.” I ask again, “How will I breathe when I sleep?” It just happens, sweetie.
* * *
I complain incessantly about the view; Surrounded here by towering firs, never changing color; sheer green walls. The roads, a cel backdrop of an animated film.
* * *
Daydreaming, Under New Management. Whenever I forget, my autonomic system takes control, casting images of riding horses along Old West adventures upon the backdrop of the forest monotony, no longer a landscape, but a canvas.
* * *
The end trees now caryatids, bearing the weight of a coliseum upon their heads. The soft curve of the road, a woman’s back. The tiny boulders at Rispin’s Hill, concentrating children, turning off the switch, eager for a little sleep.