The Floating Bridge: Prose Poems

While I Sleep

W H I L E I S L E E P She rises and wanders the house. She picks up books. Photographs. A wooden replica of a dove. She hums tunes she only half remembers. In this darkness everything becomes a river. She wades across, one river at a time. She fashions a boat from the fragments of her dreams and drifts downstream. She comes ashore and befriends the natives. They teach her to care for that part of her soul where children still live. Each night she returns to their villages. She learns their language. Practices their rituals. Laughs with the women in their huts. They bestow upon her a new name. Paint her body with vegetable dyes. Confide in her the secrets of their elders. When she returns to bed, the warmth of their campfires lingers upon her skin. 69 ...