Sleep surged over you like a bore tide
we had once seen run fast up river.
The bend of your legs vulnerable, like that of a child's
under the green blanket.
Your white hair sunk into the pillow,
soberly trimmed with a narrow band of crochet,
surf along the dark rock of your profile.

Sleep breaths, heavy with fatigue, precious every one.
I heard them, watched them rise and fall, soft sea swells.

Your face was stern in the dark land.
The self in another dreaming or dreamless place.
Eyes shuttered to any quick glance,
less mysterious than your waking face.
Such a vanquished air.
Spears thrown down at the gate of the sea-side fortress,
drunk guards asleep.