Sleep Poem by Conor Dowd

Before sleep washes over me
and drags me under
to where the labyrinths of sight and sound
entrap me with their lines
and dreams sort the hazy wanderings of the day,
I lie -
half awake, savouring the dregs of consciousness,
half-prisoner to sleep,
willing victim on an altar.

I feel the barely sensible vibrations of my breathings
in wave after wave,
echoes of a heartbeat keeping perfect time.

The thread unwinds.

My mind prepares to think,
reflect and sort out anecdotes and incidents
but physically I'm ebbing,
ignoring the drama and slowly slipping under,
surrendering to the images behind my eyes
that press against me insistently.

Heavy eyes close
and my steady breathing becomes a pendulum pulse
as the door of my mind is ajar,
my curiosity is stirred
and now I can begin to dream again.