sleeping habits

i watch you poke at sleep
with your toe, then begin
a slow wade -- half an hour
later it only laps at your ankles

you're still, curled into a snail shell
but sleep gathers then recedes
according to the moon
through our window,
the currents of your mind

inching in, twitching each step,
it is a slow process --
swimming lessons for someone
who has known drowning

chest deep, the cusp
of sleep, you prepare to dive

your breath hardens, explodes
through your nose the way
it does when you laugh
with your mouth closed,
your belly kicks out

i used to ask you what was funny,
bringing you to the surface
every time, but now i wait
for you to finish paddling,
for the folds of your mind to loosen

soon your body forgets me,
my hand on your chest,
and sleep is so far over
your head you breathe dreams
and float