Broken Sleep

Every night when "Sleep" arrives, and dragging its feet reaches the tangled bed, under its wrinkled eyelid a stream appears, a small red stream smelling like the scales of sea fish. Every night when "Sleep" sleeps restlessly this bitter, brackish-sounding stream grows tall out of the well of the west as if toward the far, far peaks of the eastern mountain. As if there were a sea among the peaks as if the sea had called out its name from the shore of night. In the corner of the eyelid scorched by the sun of sleep every night a furrow appears and the invisible plow of the stream plows it deep: a share for nothingness a share for weariness a share for the road a share for the road...