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The Blue Nap

I slept "like a stone," or like that vast stone-shaped building, the planetarium.

No dreams I can remember: the dark unbroken blue on which the stars will take their places, like bright sheep grazing the sparse sky.

The night I share with others is cloudy as if it were groggy from snowing.

On the plains, the lights of Longmont waver.

I begin to re-invent my life, turning on lights, grinding some coffee beans -- French roast, dark enough to shine.

The kettle sends up its flume of steam.

The material world is always swirling away.

Six hours ago I lay down so tired I slept through an evening I'd have given to basketball and friends.

A snow as dry as confectioners' sugar has stopped.

I take my dog for a walk over the sifting fields.

To him it's not midnight.

It's dark and snow smells like the air it's fallen through.

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William Matthews

William Procter Matthews III (November 11, 1942 – November 12, 1997) was an American poet and essayist.

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