Asleep.

I fell asleep In middle of the night Or perhaps it was a day Feigning of the darkness. There was a beggar At my tapped door Begging for a silver spoon Or perhaps for a pot of gold. A limpid long life Like flow of a river Descending into the dust Perhaps in harassed fever. If I was asleep Who was the other I? Cajoling, decreeing Perhaps a child with a dagger Or a painted being in swagger. Days come and go But the sun without a race Soulful of its luminosity In a jocund dark space.