jovi esquivel

I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of blue-green leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary.

Margaret Atwood

Night- Piece

I do not sleep at night.
Rain does not lull me, and the withered wind
Is always out of tune, when there is wind
Or moon enough for light.

The sounds, up from the street,
Fall back again, unclaimed: the dispossessed.
The sounds repeat, repeat…

But never call my name;
Though I have heard the footsteps mount the stair,
The steady tread that echoed down the stair-
And trembled just the same…

As if someone had come
But could not find me, passing by my room,
And did not know I waited in my room,
Lonely, sleepless and dumb.

by Raymond R. Patterson

The day after tomorrow, not until the day after tomorrow …

I’ll spend tomorrow thinking about the day after tomorrow,
And then maybe, we’ll see; but not today …
Today is out of question. Today I can’t.
The confused persistence of my objective subjectivity,
The fatigue of my real, intermittently appearing life,
The anticipated and infinite weariness,
A multi-world weariness just to catch a streetcar,
This species of soul …
                                       Not until the day after tomorrow …
Today I want to get ready,
I want to get ready to think tomorrow about the day after …
That will be the decisive one.
I’ve already planned it out; but no, today I’m not planning
      anything.
Tomorrow is the day for plans.
Tomorrow I will sit at my desk to conquer the world,
But I’ll conquer the world the day after tomorrow  …
I feel like crying,
I suddenly feel, deep within, like crying.
No, don’t try to find out any more, it’s a secret, I’m not telling.
Not until the day after tomorrow …

When I was a child I was amused by the Sunday circus every week.
Today I’m only amused by the Sunday circus of every week of my childhood.
The day after tomorrow I’ll be different,
My life will triumph,
All of my real qualities of intelligence, erudition and practicality
Will be convened by an official announcement,
But by an announcement to be made tomorrow …
Today I want to sleep; I’ll draft announcements tomorrow …
For today, what show is playing that would reenact my childhood?
I’ll be sure to buy tickets tomorrow,
Since the day after tomorrow is when I want to go,
Not before… 
The day after tomorrow I’ll have the public image which tomorrow
        I’ll rehearse.
The day after tomorrow I’ll finally be what today I could never be.
The day after tomorrow, not before …

I feel tired the way a stray dog feels cold.
I feel very tired.
Tomorrow I’ll explain it to you, or the day after tomorrow …
Yes, perhaps not until the day after tomorrow …

The future …
Yes, the future …

Fernando Pessoa

In many shamanic societies, if you came to a medicine person complaining of being disheartened, dispirited, or depressed, they would ask one of four questions: When did you stop dancing? When did you stop singing? When did you stop being enchanted by stories? When did you stop finding comfort in the sweet territory of silence? — Gabrielle Roth