Sleep lies beside me
as a ghost
as an aspiration,
flecks of paint
flakes of rust
a thin immersive crust;

hearing dreams emerge
without me
leaving me behind
within me
feeling dreams submerge
coming up for air
almost too much to bear.

Sleep hides before me
as a host
as an affectation,
veils of lace
trails of trust
of fingerprints and dust;

sleep unawake
a butterfly lies in wait
pinned to the shadows
consigned to its fate
while all the while
it’s getting late.

Sleep confides in me
as an oath
as a fine temptation,
streams of quartz
dreams of dusk
lullabies can’t be rushed.

© Emma Calder