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HUGH
STEINBERG
Sleepy
The
beds, the bedding
and
the need of rest.
The
ground was tough, knotty
with
weeds.
Say
it was all connected, hard to break:
a
book and the closing sky,
somebody
in love.
She said these people
who
love, they loose their names—
we
follow them around,
we follow them around.
A
key gets turned when we sleep.
We are locked between
the
stale
earth and the sky.
The key turns the lock between you
and
you, the key turns the ground,
the ground is set each successive hour of the day.
I
tell her we
could
see if something else
keeps
us together,
keeps
me from stumbling.
To
move; I move
like
I was swaying.
Like
I was not made of this body.
I
was made of grass and
the
ground belongs to me I
can
give it up I tell her I want
what
I want I want to rise
I
want up even if
I'm clacked
and broken.
I
want to go home in knots.
I
want to wake up
all
worn out
beside
you. 
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