Although I don’t need that much sleep,
I’m sated by that measure
And bring back from the depthless deep
A chest of ancient treasure.
My body isn’t made of clay
But infinite awareness,
And, though I never went away.
I’m conscious of my thereness.
And, though it’s only 3 am,
I reach for pen and paper,
And, working on an uncut gem,
I strive to be its shaper.
I wouldn’t have this much esprit
If deep sleep didn’t quicken me.
Photo by Rodrigo Pereira on Unsplash
