The more you sleep

The more you sleep through the less you repeat. The soft flash of colourless silver impossibly outside the bedroom, outside the tangled city, illuminates the translucent plastic blinds after an interminable swelling in the sky. It rises over the sheets and walls to fill the room with imperceptible light. You would have watched it before with the ceaseless attention of the hidden, the fugitive. It washes over your pale eyelids. It lingers long, that predawn awareness. Routines begin in the partial light. You are impatient for the beginning to instigate the crawl to the end. There are so many ends. The bland rising rays fall high through the blinds drawing few lines high across the opposite wall. Slowly the shadow of the brick wall outside the window sinks. More bars of light appear and grow in intensity. They lose their golden pallour. Each line increasing in brightness expands and consumes the next growing imperceptibly into a single inescapable day. When late sleep is foiled by hot anxiety and you have blinked with avoidance into the day the day goes on in blinking still moments. It is the same day. It moves too quickly because it never began. You hide in the pauses between attentive flashes. Days fall apart.