Everyday the body works in a world unknown,
Following around strangers,
Or walking through all of the dreams-
Dreams of nothing, dream of everything.
And every night the body curls around itself
And listens for the soft bells of sleep.
But the heart is restless and rises
From the body in the middle of the night,
Leaves the box-like bedroom
With its black and white photographs
To sit by herself on the broken couch
And stare into the world.
And the mind gets up too, walks silently
And sits next to the heart, never touching
And opens a book of dreams.
Even the conscience awakens
And roams from room to room in the dark,
Darting away from every mirror with shame.
And the soul is out on the porch,
Through all the wind and the rain,
Singing a song about the wild beauty of the sea,
Until the first rip of pink appears in the sky.
Then, they all will return to the sleeping body,
The way the sand settles back into the ocean,
Resuming the daily colloquy,
Talking to themselves and never each other.