Variation on the Word Sleep

by Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,

which may not happen.

I would like to watch you,

 sleeping. I would like to sleep

 with you, to enter

 your sleep as its smooth dark wave

 slides over my head

 and walk with you through that lucent

 wavering forest of bluegreen leaves

 with its watery sun & three moons

 towards the cave where you must descend,

 towards your worst fear

 I would like to give you the silver

 branch, the small white flower, the one

 word that will protect you

 from the grief at the center

 of your dream, from the grief

 at the center. I would like to follow

 you up the long stairway

 again & become

the boat that would row you back

carefully, a flame

in two cupped hands

 to where your body lies

 beside me, and you enter

 it as easily as breathing in

 I would like to be the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed

and that necessary.