Hibernation--After Morris Graves
(by Jack Spicer)
Deeper than sleep, but in a room as narrow
The mind turns off its longings one by one,
Lets beautiful black fingers snap the last one,
Remove the self and lie its body down.
The Future chills the sky above the chamber.
The Past gnaws through the earth below the bed.
But here the naked Present lies as warmly
As if it rested in the lap of God.
(from My Vocabulary Did This to Me: The Collected Poetry of Jack Spicer, Wesleyan, 2010)