Sleep Well

Sometimes at night the birds forget what they are, how it works, and start to sing. They can't wait for the sun, or even believe in it. Sometimes the darkness begins to throb with color that curls around your sleeping body (a snake whose dream has wrapped around yours) and starts to squeeze. Sometimes you wake to a strange cry rising from a familiar throat, and the moon in your window sets aflame all the houses on your block except your own. Some nights the world revolves beneath the sky, which revolves inside the mind of God, whose every thought dissolves like salt on your tongue. Tonight, the birds are sleeping.