Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Now I Lay Me

I think of my soul as my wife,
a part of myself kept close
and well protected,
my helpmeet, my joy, my sorrow;
my truth, my lie.

Down to Sleep

Sleep is a thing I do less now.
With flattened prow,
I plough like a barge through a storm.
Dark rain beats down.
Bottom deeps rise in waves to defeat me,
but my mind drives on.

I Pray the Lord

And who is it prays for me?
My soul, my wife
who does not see requests as begging.
I was given her;
indeed, I see her as a gift,
so to ask for more
seems to me a little presumptuous.

My Soul to Keep

My wife seems a fragile thing
and yet is tough.
To keep is a matter of pride,
if I'm strong enough.
Waves drive to divide, split apart,
and return my soul
to the deeps
out of which she came,
or blow her away like foam
to a further shore.

If I Should Die

And die I surely shall. Must soul die, too?
That hidden female self
too good to keep,
too needed to give away;
but who can take my heart,
return it whole.

Before I Wake

Assumes I have been asleep
in a "go slow" zone,
unaware I'm speeding,
but have not yet begun to define
the trip I'm taking.
Dark waters cling and persistently resist
the knots I’m making.

I Pray The Lord

And so I'm back to praying
like a hound dog baying
on a trail that’s no longer hot.
What's more, it's not a route
I have gone before.
I am lost and willing, compliant now,
caught in my need
to be born once again,
again made free.

My Soul To Take

Dear God, don't take my soul.
Or if you do, please take me, too,
enclosed as she is in my body.
Take both, my soul and me, as one,
we two.