Sleep Lines

My body is a notepad

With sleep lines written across the surface.

They are art, pure, perfect poetry. 

They are the lyrics of a song

Best sung by a yawn;

A melody whose dedicated choreography 

is stretched limbs

In the elated presence of birds, 

Chirping their cheers

Accompanying my performance

With the rhythm of wingbeats. 

 

To every waking moment 

a new concert. 

©Marcel