Elizabeth Bartlett, The House of Sleep
“ Memory is no stranger in the house of sleep. It comes as a visitor for a reunion. If a private occasion, with the family Or else with those forgotten who have long been gone. The waiting house is ready for us to gather. Together or separately our memories meet. Waking in the night, I have wondered where I am Knowing I have been away and not yet returned. I lie still and wait between absence and presence Conscious of being witness to my sleep and wake. Here's body, inert, prepared to revert to clay. O wanderer with my lamp, how dim grows the light. ”
