For the Sleepwalkers
Tonight I want to say
something wonderful
for the sleepwalkers who have so much faith
in their
legs, so much faith in the invisible
arrow carved into the carpet,
the worn path
that leads to the stairs instead of the window,
the gaping
doorway instead of the seamless mirror.
I love the way that
sleepwalkers are willing
to step out of their bodies into the night,
to
raise their arms and welcome the darkness,
palming the blank spaces,
touching everything.
Always they return home safely, like blind men
who
know it is morning by feeling shadows.
And always they wake
up as themselves again.
That's why I want to say something
astonishing
like: Our hearts are leaving our
bodies.
Our hearts are
thirsty black handkerchiefs
flying through the trees at night, soaking
up
the darkest beams of moonlight, the music
of owls, the motion of
wind-torn branches.
And now our hearts are thick black fists
flying back
to the glove of our chests.
We have to learn to trust our
hearts like that.
We have to learn the desperate faith of sleep-
walkers
who rise out of their calm beds
and walk through the skin of
another life.
We have to drink the stupefying cup of darkness
and wake up
to ourselves, nourished and surprised.
~ Edward Hirsch ~
(For the Sleepwalkers)
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