Painting by Evelyn de Morgan


Though I pull the sheets of night about me,

nothing stops the (waking),

the ending of dreams,

the fall in(to the) glare of day.

The spool slips,

and the (slow) motion of the stars ceases.

No (butter)-light can sooth the loss,

soften the (slide) from the floating free (of) darkness

to the brash, brittle chains of (sunlight)

that scratch a bitter reality (through) dream space,

(painted) all the colours of the stars.

No (trees) bending in a subtle wind

changes the (knowing) that my feet are rooted to the earth

and I can no longer find the path that winds about the moon.

No (clouds) pinned cotton-soft on a blue canvas

(are) worth the (waiting) for sleep

(and the) swallowing of the (pitiless) sun

by the sacred (night).

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

12 thoughts on “Sleep-waking”

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