Sleep

Sleep, in a fashion after the waking, is the state of awareness in which I register senses with my physical body. I have provisional control of my movements, when the forces of coincident systems of movement do not intersect my own. Am I relating this to my body because it is a new particle in my rustling cloak of a being? This is the effect of diffusion and this could be a new body, or a recombined body.

At the end of the daylight my perception is riddled still with tiny chinks that seem broken through the dusk, light showing through them, or pocks which catch some character of light saved in the atmosphere from an instant, when I had seen it reflected from a situation that now returns to me more atmosphere than memory and more current than the thought of a place passed in afternoon haze.

As the sun passes behind the earth, or behind the roof of an apartment building, it briefly becomes the entire horizon, tracing the trees in silhouette, the rooflines, the stark streetlamps, the street reaching a hill crest and diving to day after day, etched in the unraveled circumference of the sun at night. The streetlamps, nightsuns, afire the horizon behind me with dusty orange vapour. The night seen in a rearview mirror is irritating and feels that it is running down her neck beneath her collar. The night, pocked with retained bits of the last tangent of the sun gasping is something registerable. What I look out on directly forward, through a pergola of dark streetlamps, is not night. How can it be night when I am not exposed in it. If she were standing below a streetlamp, lit, just at the edge of the corona looking up and the haze of gnats aglow each, knowing it was night. Here, through the windscreen, it is a darkness absent of me, as though I am looking away from myself from in front of her and I see that streetlamp yet it is still darkened and I see the curb and it runs past the rearview mirror and out behind me appears again running over the crest of hill the sun sank behind in the rearview mirror.



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