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LEARNING TO SLEEP For Theo, 3 months old Darkness comes, but you do not know it—or you do not know What is is, or refuse to believe it. In the kitchen, the electric Clock moves silently, does not tick or chime, and you Do not look at it. It does nothing to make you look. Still, darkness is here, and the world knows darkness, Just as the world knows the stars you have never noticed Though I have tried to make you look at them—but they pass Too slowly, too silently for you to wonder if anything has passed. And so you have not learned to sleep, though I have tried to tell you How. You sleep only when something catches you unaware and drags you inAnd when you wake, you do not remember that you have been Somewhere you have never yet consented to go Willingly, whether or not you know that in this darkness The world and I wake to your crying that is timeless. TERRY HUMMER* *'TERRY HUMMER is an native on Mississippi and is currently residing in Utah. He has published a book of poems, Translation of Light (Cedar Creek Press, 1976), and his work has appeared in many magazines, including Southern Review, North American Review, and Paris Review. ROCKT MOUNTAIN REVIEW ...

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