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memories, ghosts, dreams 117 Somewhere Jane Hayman You have been sleeping now for over three months. Sleep is what Merwin calls it in his poem Good Night. “Sleep softly, my old love,” he writes, “without end in the dark.” You are my old love but I don’t think you’re asleep. If you are, it’s time to wake up. Poets speak of death as “sleep” and “night.” Dylan Thomas called it “the darkness of the darkness.” Iwouldrather thinkofyouin heaven,yourkindofheaven,whichIpictureasThe Ramblas in Barcelona on a sunny October day. You are sitting at an outdoor café, talking and laughing, drinking beer, and smoking one cigarette after another. Each cigarette is stamped: Good for celestial health. Increases wingspan and strengthens flying ability. ...

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