Edges once sharp now fade,
the shadow of details
from a scene recede,
and the high tide of sleep
ripples over dark eyes
as the sloth drifts
through blue veins
covering muscles
and tying down limbs;
gravity's concern
suddenly noticeable
and suddenly strong.
Fantasy overtakes
reason's talk,
grips slacken
and the heart's beat
loudly balks;
blood now becomes
a lazy river.
Air pours freshly
into porous lungs,
widening and rising to meet
the heart's march.
Slumber filters thickly
the imaginations
and encloses
the world around;
places fade too far to touch,
people and sound
come and go
in the story line
of a drowsy mind.