Falling

     When the sky
curls in on itself,
when the streetlamps
spread their powdered wings and
spark
a golden diffusion of light,
when the words
begin to smear
like the colored sand
of a peace mandala
dusting away
over the calm cool flow
of a river,
disintegrating,
when movement
slows
like amber syrup pooling,
I close my eyes,
and let myself
sink
smoothly
into the dark ocean
of sleep.