MINUTES BEFORE I SLEEP
 
The first ten minutes before I sleep should always last forever.
To pull the blankets close and close the eyes and ride
the softly undulating waves of black and cold.
To feel the coolness of the pillows as I glide
on roller coaster tracks of twisting inky black.
What is this place?  Not dream, not life.  Some in-between.
Like Schrödinger’s cat, perhaps, or Du Fu’s gull
between earth and sky.
 
 
This poem first appeared Pennine Ink, November 2023.