He falls asleep only to fall
again. Face-down in darkness,
without a breath, he gropes
against a flood of skulls,
their jawbones working
the current. Through nights
restless as unbedded stones
he eddies in the black stream,

then wakes to mornings damp
with prophecy: that vague chill
and taste of death, that limp
he suffers for his first
few steps, careful to keep
his heel off the ground.