asleep you become a continent—
undiscovered, mysterious, long,
your legs mountain ranges
encircling valleys, ravines
 
night slips past your eyelids,
your breath the swaying of the sea,
sprawled across the bed like
a dolphin washed ashore, your mouth
 
is the mouth of a sated volcano,
O fragrant timber, how do you burn?
you are so near, and yet so far
 
as you doze like a lily at my side,
I undo myself and invoke the moon—
I’m a dog watching over your sleep
Francisco Aragón, “Alseep You Become a Continent” from Glow of Our Sweat. Copyright © 2010 by Francisco Aragón.  Reprinted by permission of Francisco Aragón.
 

Source: Glow of Our Sweat(Scapegoat Press, 2010)

Francisco Aragón

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from Poem of the Day http://bit.ly/2fwigxz

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