They tell me I slept
That I used to dream
My body still, a baby expecting birth
Or an old woman waiting for a train.
I've been told I was beautiful,
My shoulders glowing in sunrise
Like alabaster, like sea-stones
And a lighthouse calling them home.
I heard, too, that I was fragile.
That one I don't believe -
Skin and bones and bird-breaths
That if disturbed, would crumble away.
They tell me a lot of things,
But mostly, they tell me
That once upon a time,
I really did sleep.















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