Sleep crosses earth’s
curve and casts
the world’s return to birth.

The eagle folds at last;
the moth ascends.
The day’s brief hour has passed.

The fox’s vigil ends;
the owl begins.
Each life concedes and lends.

No creature names these skins,
this older rule,
the law beneath their limbs.

Sleep keeps the pool
where futures lie,
unformed and cool.

All waking must comply
and enter night,
a wordless lullaby.

The world grows slight.
The stars revolve in keep;
the turning holds the light.

And all return to sleep.