Three nights of good sleep,

Twenty years in the making,

Routines adopted and abandoned

Scattered behind me on the road to Dreamland.

So much anxious debris

Meant to entice stillness

Deep breathing

And a pleasant dream,

Perchance.

It comes in phases:

Up repeatedly for hours at a time.

Coffee at two A.M

Followed by breakfast

And a four hour nap.

Then up again,

And it’s only seven A.M.

The day is too long from this vista—

The next attempt is twelve or fourteen or sixteen hours away.

And if I try too soon

Then it’s coffee at midnight

Followed by breakfast

And a two hour nap—

Then what? Coffee? Brunch?

A nightmare?

But this week,

This miraculous week:

Awake at two A.M. then back to sleep in minutes.

Again at four A.M. and back to sleep in minutes,

Dreaming up the formula

And letting go of all previous attempts,

All chasing and entreaties to Hypnos.

The pillow is mightier than the coffee pot,

The blanket supplants breakfast,

If only in this miraculous week of dreams.

It’s only Wednesday.