Like a boat drifting,
sleep flows forward
on the deep water of dreams.
Drifts and drifts...
until, finally
the bottom falls out of knowledge.
In the fragrant mist of dawn
the rower wakes,
picks up the oars, sets them,
and begins to row.
All night
he labored in his dream
to be born
like a song in the mouth of God.
- Robert Sund
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