Chapter Four

The spirit is residual and nothing martial
The air smelled of dust--of humidity, ash, and
snow in the pollen
Of cold and crows
I prepared without clothes
A tiny hard apple held dull and dry in the hand
Languages
A code of sleep
As I dreamed I forgot, and woke pressed
Sleep is much the same thing
Even now I remember the bed
The wool was wet
The air smelled of garlic and coffee
The neighbor slept
Sleep is an intense contentment -- its conditions
are mine, its conditions are met