Sleep, my child, knowing
the stories are not yours,
nor mine, merely
epitaphs of time.

Memories retreat
to wherever they go,
an oasis of their own,
abandoning
all that never was,
all that never is.

And it feels as if bells
ring in temples,
ring in temples.
And elephant Gods
climb circus rings,
climb circus rings.
And the vendors of liquors
tuck it all in,
tuck it all in.

In your dreams, my burrowing.
Tell me, my child, with your eyes
so still, mind locked in:
does it begin all over again?