Preparing for Bed

This is the prying open
This is the aeration
Who said sleep would be painless?
Down here something like earthworms
turn open
settled places
that would
given the choice
compress
to stone.

The merciless law
of this dark place
withholds that choice.
The next seeds
will have their chance
after all.
The soil beneath will churn
like water
like everything else
up there.

But this is winter, you say.
Hibernation? Rest time?
You have been awake
in your dreams
so you know
better. The turning goes on
and on. The surface arcs
in spectral color,
splits along seams
invisible in the dazzle
of daylight.
Detail falls away.
The blind, blunt nose of the soul
comes drilling through
to open a story
in the dense fabric, to force
breath between threads
and tease loose
what holds you
to you.

 
—
Image Credit: Andrew Ferguson, “February Snow, Compton Downs from the Ridgeway,” Woodcut.