POEM: Falling Asleep

It’s so easy now
because he’s done it so often.
(Twenty-three thousand times, at least.)
And actually, he doesn’t do it.
He doesn’t say, “It’s now 9:00.
and I have to do my job
of falling asleep.” No,
the sleep simply happens,
like a sunset does,
or like a stirred-up pond settles
back to its peaceful state.
His thoughts have been running races all day,
and now they are strewn on the grass,
exhausted and resting.
All his feelings have fallen
into silky nests.
His hard-working heart
is opening and closing its doors
a little more slowly.
He knows that trustworthy sleep
will soon take his hand
and hold it,
just like the universe effortlessly cares
for everything.