When I can’t fall asleep
my mind wanders to the forest.
I crawl under a tree.
I can surely find some sleep down there.
The roots are all bend up,
exposing an opening
big enough for me to squeeze in.
Moist greenish brown,
dark and inviting.
A secret path
to the marrow of the solid ground.
Safe like a womb,
warm like a fireplace,
the home of grey sows
and slimy creeps.
My nose shivers in a new sensation.
My eyelids capture,
in a long exposure,
three falling stars.
Deep down, the tree is humming
in a didgeridoo tone, a low crawling A,
inviting me to a tour through the intestinal system of Mother Earth,
curling like a roller coaster under the giant’s roots.
The sound carries a message.
A vibrant vibration of verbs
bursting through the synapses of my sleepless brain,
pulverizing question marks into sedating drugs.
Gravitation pulls me down
to an unknown terrain.
Empty beer glasses are scattered around on the floor in our newly bought wooden house on the countryside.
Rows of cypresses move gently to music from a vintage car passing by on the road leading to a small town nearby.
The neighbor’s lost cat appears from nowhere.
It is carrying three dead mice in its mouth, and its eyes reflect the moonlight over the cornfield, which burned down last summer in a sudden southern breeze.
This must be a dream.
I normally live in the center of town,
and our neighbors have only a domestic lazy cat who’d probably faint if he saw a rat,
let alone three dead mice.
That means I’m asleep at last.
I’ve reached my goal.
So where do I go from here?
Is the new goal to wake up?
To what purpose?
Maybe sleep is the right condition, and running about all day,
doing meaningless tasks, is only a way to make us tired enough
so we can fall asleep again?
I must admit I’m not sure I like this dream.
I probably should use this time better and dream some more constructive dreams.
Or at least more fantastic ones, like at the beginning, before the voice of reason interrupted.
I should hold on to one of those roots,
suck from its energy source and climb up to ground level again.
I should look for some light
and follow the A tone to higher octaves.
I hum another tone above the A.
I start with a C for a smooth minor,
climb up to a D to create some suspense,
and land on an E to create stability.
I’m sitting in a cart riding a coal mine track,
accelerating in an uneven pace.
A high squeak from the track should be a sign of warning that my speed is too dangerous and a sharp turn is coming.
It is now poems being born.
Two bright headlights are getting rapidly closer and just before I crash into the tunnel’s black wall, my dream beams me over to my bed.
I look straight up at this empty plastic socket on the ceiling where a lamp should be hanging.
My wife is snoring peacefully on my right.
Pale daylight pressures through our dark olive curtain.
The shadow of the walnut tree in our yard moves slow on the thick fabric.
A new day begins.
A new end.
©Uzi Geffenblad 2/3-2025
