They wander in like lost Buddhas,
awake when they wish to sleep.
Before their rest I bind them tight
to measure the strain of every breath,
anoint them with sensors
on scalp and chin.
Five rooms bear five seekers
who begin their journey never
knowing
angels mistook Adam for immortal
before they saw him sleep.
Through the one-way mirror
I watch their eyes
grow calm as summer lakes,
surfaces shimmering in a breeze
of dreams
blown by varieties of waking.
Reverie glows in green lines
on my monitors, like threads
between underworld and paradise.
All night, patterns repeat
with the trance of prayers
until dawn startles the horizon
and I hum for shadows
to rejoin their bodies.
It is said that in heaven there is
no sleep
and when I rouse my subjects
all swear they never slept.
