I sleep to wake and wake to dream
in dappled shade some long afternoon
which says more I do not know:

the way the foothills fall under the lake
or how this absence shores them up
as I sleep to wake and wake to dream

quiet descends when the heat pump fades
everything has a voice and a silence of its own
and which speaks louder I do not know

the grapes are small before summer’s bite—
there’s always a lack, now heat, then shade
I sleep then wake and wake then dream

and wake in relief or wake with regret
from the presences along the borderline
and which speaks louder I do not know

we’ll fill in gaps with paving stones
but I’ll nap until that time comes
I wake to sleep and sleep to dream
and which speaks louder I do not know

[New series idea — poems I have mis-remembered, combined, or otherwise garbled the opening lines. sorry Roethke.]