Who Taught You To Sleep

You dive into sleep, a bent-winged raptor,
fall to your dreams like a peregrine.
Who taught you that? Who taught you
where the depths are, underworld rivers
delicious with rest and transmutation?
I wade in shallows. Slog
for hours toward the falling tide, moss
and algae, busted shells and jelly.
I fall now and then, couldn't drown
if I tried. When you die
it will be like that--you'll fly.
I'll fight the sheets for oblivion.