The sleep that comes over me,
The mental sleep that physically hits me,
The universal sleep that personally overcomes me --
Such a sleep must seem a sleep to fall asleep in,
The sleep of someone wanting to go to sleep,
The very sleep that is sleep.
But it's more, it goes deeper, higher than that:
It's the sleep encompassing every disappointment.
It's the sleep that synthesizes all despair,
It's the sleep of feeling there's a world within me
Without my having said yes or no to it.
Yet the sleep that comes over me
Is just like ordinary sleep.
Being tired at least softens you
Being run-down at least quiets you,
Giving up at least puts an end to trying,
And the end at least is giving up trying to hope.
There's a sound of a window opening.
Indifferent, I turn my head to the left,
Looking over the shoulder that felt it,
And see through the half-opened window
The girl on the third floor across the street
Leaning out, her blue eyes searching for someone.
My indifference asks.
And all this is sleep.
My God, so much sleep! . . .