Each child as the moon
still clinging to its mother
--already your closed eyes
hang like rain: lodestars
drinking the Earth weightless
and Death with each wet breath
grows wider than sunlight
than the eyes lying down next to you.

Sleep. Your heart gets loose
to cry by itself. But not far.
Not the Flood still warm
left and right from your crib: a bridge
is the only place for this moon

--kisses help
leaning over as if my lips
were covered with the river
only Death can carry off in its mouth
like the light flowing through your heart
the first song you heard, asleep
and will look for everywhere.

Sleep. A beautiful face
will break your arm in half
wider and wider, the bones
singing, drying your lips
as if they were being born and Death
whose face is so strong

will try too. Sleep. Get to know
your dark, how to sniff for moonlight
in the afternoon, in your sleep
that's still in one piece.