• Books & the Arts
• September 28, 2000

Nocturnal

Nocturnal

It is always among sleepers we walk.
We walk in their dreams. None of us
Knows what he is as he walks
In the dream of another. Tell me my name
. Your tongue is blurred, honeyed with error,
Your sleep’s truth murmurs its secret.

Tell me your name. Out at the edge,
Out in the cold, out in the cold
That came into the house in your clothes
The wind’s hands hold onto nothing,
Moaning, over the edge of the cliff
The wind babble unintelligible.