Why is it no one rises into sleep?
Dreams are not a fallen state.
When she was young, I'd watch my daughter
Be lifted up to the hours of grace and rest,
Her eyes turned inward, her breath
As rhythmic as rhyme. She rose
Into the night like any other creature
Who gave themselves up to the visions
That threaded through their minds.
How else do we make sense of this world?
How else to embrace the fragmentary?
And is it not sad that having set things aright
We're not able to stay, and find ourselves,
In the ascending hours of a terse winter's day,
Heeding the light, falling awake?
Ken Holland is an award-winning poet whose work has been widely published in such journals as Rattle, Southwest Review, The Cortland Review and Poetry East. Most recently in The Carolina Quarterly, Wisconsin Review, and Stillwater Review, with poetry forthcoming in The Chariton Review and The American Journal of Poetry. A Pushcart nominee, he placed first in the 2019 Stephen DiBiase competition, and third in the 2020 Naugatuck River Review contest. His poems have also been featured in a number of anthologies. He resides in Fishkill, New York, and reads throughout the Hudson Valley or wherever Zoom will take him. He's currently engaged in compiling several manuscripts.