So often I have tried to capture how
I fall asleep: the moment always missed, a glide
from A is A, from level here and now,
to nowhere, nowhen, down the spiral slide.
Not once by violence, by watchful thought,
have I succeeded in a bid for sleep:
only the loosed will’s coin has ever bought
that balm, as when the ploy of counting sheep
diverts the mind’s bright beam.
So too, I know,
with meditation: mantra syllables
and postures are but ways of letting go.
Yet still that ocean, vast and mystical,
eludes my mind: I chant a magic number
or gaze upon a toe — and fall to slumber!

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