Richard Pearse

         Verdicts of a Nap

          I closed the deal
with wakefulness
at a compromise

between a decent
wonder and pride
toward my ancestors,

as I drift
toward the treetop
where they’re waiting.

Likenesses don't lie,
and this nap
mildly transposes

the smells of old
photos and ladies' gloves,
habits of collecting,

to a new home,
amnesia's falling leaves,
sweet as intermittent.

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