Such a one must naturally be
of a quarrelsome disposition,
and as solitary as the birds.1
she cannot sleep
she falls asleep
the sun is up
the day is done
the mockingbird
is mocked for fun
but he persuades
the crows with pecks
to stop their joking
cease from laughter
in her sleepless dreams
these quarrelsome
bird-dances puff into plumes
of angel-haired prophecies
shrouded in smoke
en route to heaven
something about eden
something about quadrants
I dreamt there was an espionage
that went beyond time
does she know it?
I think she does
the dog doesn’t know
doesn’t know nothing
but restlessness
and hunger
and want
and we
are only
slightly more
sophisticated in the
articulation of animal lack
but the dream continues
to spite the circling gnats
she can sleep well
she wakes up
the sun is down
the day has begun
Aristotle, Politics