Sonnet Sleep

The effortless gift of dream,
if not desire, then good
or lovely things-

sweet, black
goddess of night

steals in capturing
the purpled city,
its dim-lit towers,

its silent bodies.

Each mountain's wings,
saffron-flowered robes,
sleeves of arrested light

sleep's drifting motion

loose as longing, closed as
smoked-stained eyes

identical to breathing
lightly, lightly fall.

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