Sweet Morpheus

(re-posted from 9/26/09 with different pic)

I spread jam-dollops of sleep
thick on the bread of the night –
and bite: take quick deep dips
into dream-delineated light –

my brain regards its surrealities
serenely: coolly matter-of-fact:
indifferent to the actual.
Why jam? Ah – recall the tact

we exercised the last two weeks
of your life: the wielded spoon
replete with strawberry preserves
and morphine: “go to the moon,

dear mother, and –
come back
if you want to.” One morning
you didn’t. Want to. Come back.

.