A king, A queen, a floor,
Our carousel through the night.
A roulette wheel
With a soft landing
Dinosaurs, forest creatures, patterns on patterns.
Cotton linens, feathered downs, in swirls of fabric to take a rest
No one wakes alone.
Warm embraces send us back to our dreams.
We sleepwalk through these soft corridors Stumbling in and out of bedroom doors,
Musical furniture
To silent rhythms
A dance in the night
We have practiced 1000 times.
A quickstep, A shuffle, A lift to the sky.
Visions come and go, weave around us and in between us
I am the dream catcher and you are a hot water bottle, A baby, A bear, A wakeful sprite...
A leg for a tent peg, an arm for a bolster, A chest for a pillow, a body - a blanket
Deep heavy slumber hovers over us like a thick white fog
Dense and intoxicating
By morning we lie, dead to the world, a warm tangle of hearts, soft skin and deep sighs, pushing away the sleep from our eyes. Sweet slumbered creases on our faces, safe as we'll ever be. Back to the start, from where all beginnings sprang. The family bed.
The Carousel
Published
Claire Sanders Poetry 