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03/20/10 - (1)
Sleeping in Later than Late
Knowing I have only one day more before I fly away, home, I give myself complete permission to sleep in late, Later than later than I've ever slept, in Lake Nebagamon.
And what joyous freedom there is that resides, abides, In my realizing that sleep is a delicious suspension of time, A caesura in the chaotic orchestrations of daily doing,
Not just a necessity for our physical and mental well-being Or a distraction we indulge in when evading responsibilities Or shamelessly embracing sheer torpor, laziness, lassitude.
Carefree mornings such as this sunny Sabbath In my quiet cabin by the glistening, ice-impastoed lake Come every other eon, millennium, century, year or so,
At least in this current mortal existence on loan to me, And when one does present me with the sweet opportunity To suspend time, for however long I deem unreasonably long,
I surrender my present-tense being to late sleep's keeping And pretend that when I open my eyes again, I'll be here, in this sleepy village, for the rest of my life.
03/20/10 - (1)
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