talking in my sleep

You sleep.

No – that cannot be

Sleep. You.

I

Sleep.

The witching hour has been and gone. The midnight oil – burnt up. The first lark already trills as June’s feeble night fades. Sleep.

I hear you, though

Of course. You hear the rain fall and I am in the rain. You hear the sound of night slipping away, and I am here in the gentle flow of night shade, the pitter patter of day drops, in the hesitant birdsong – not yet a chorus, more a hope of things to come.

You are present in all this? How?

No matter how, no matter how – a world extinguished just long enough for time and every thing that time encompasses to reset – a nought at the heart of existence

Nought?

Nought. Just big enough to flip the pancake onto the other side of. Things

Pancake?

Or mind… What difference does it make. Nought is ne’er overfussed by words, nor precise terms, nor

Nought? It has a mind – you think

Mind there is in all.

Even in nought – the absence of aught?

Especially so. Hear the rain come thicker, harder: a single flash of lightning, a muffled thunder burst.

I sleep. And yet –

And yet I is aware – is it not, of all around

All, encompassing aught

Inside and out

Inside. Out

To a single point returned – an infinitude

A day dying as night’s shadow fades, as clattering rain tolls you to bed

To bed – as you slip into supposed sleep and lose all thought – as you finally give yourself away

Give myself away – to the silence between drops

The darkness rolling itself into the underness of things

Oh

Oh

Oh

Perfectly

 

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blessed be the night’s night
blessed be the morn’s morn
blessed be nought’s rise and fall