Sleep Iii Poem by Morgan Michaels

What shall I tell you about my lover Sleep?
Sometimes at night, the tent of darkness will shift.
She has left me, where has she gone?
Straining to penetrate the dark like Atlas
I see her towering above me. Along the range
Of her shoulders she bears the wheel of the sky
Slowly, it turns to an enchanting music.
Gorgeous lights are bonded to it, somehow.
Not surprisingly it trembles and steadies itself.
There is a light rain of dew
And a brief rain of stars.
She shakes from her brows rich drops of sweat
Which launch a strange wobbling race
Through intervening Space, their volumes
But not their masses changing until each
Distended, expanding, splashes
With a half-annihilating plash
On my face, say, or throat. If
My eyes can get used to the light
And are not obscured by cloud, they seek her face,
Her gaze fixed on mine. She wants me to think of her
Straddling the earth and sky, laboring for
That I might rest and lay to rest the griefs of the day.
'Mark what I do for you', she says,
And I cannot help but, for love, weep.

What shall...