Sleepy Poem by Hugh Steinberg

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.