we have no memory of sleep save for the dreaming parts, but

have I awakened this morning from a dreamless sleep?

setting my feet to the floor

I rise with caution to insure stability.

at times sleep retreats slowly like a conquered 19th century army;

at other times, it scoots in a mad rush,–– 

like an unjust monarch on the run from his just beheading.

as for dreams, their borderless pathology is muted as running water

delivers its fatal wound.

but even the limitless passage of time will not clarify the uncharted roadway of sleep.