In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Balancing I have always slept the way I ride, dance, and shoot— when I want, and well. Tonight sleep is harder than waking, my muscles at ready as if for danger, here at midnight on the edge of an obscure continent with my house and farm holding me, quiet. My heart startles me, its surging so close to the surface. Is it always so? To put the parts of sleep together I tell my muscles one by one to be loose. Why should I not sleep? I was sick once, my fever on landing, but I have never been afraid. My heart slows. Under my hand it kicks evenly, like a boy sitting on a wooden bridge who swings his lower legs as if walking on the green current below while he thinks he is not afraid, thinks he doesn't mind that his friends have slid out of sight leaving him perched, alone, toohigh! although he saw the water accept and then hold the others up, saw their backs gleam in the dark river, their heels graze the surface from beneath in a slow flutter, although he knows from lesser jumps that the rush of water past his ears will sound like applause— falling, I wake. 13 ...

Share