You scream, waking from a nightmare.

When I sleepwalk
into your rooom, and pick you up,
and hold you up in the moonlight, you cling to me
as if clinging could save us. I think
you think
I will never die, I think I exude
to you the permanence of smoke or stars,
even as
my broken arms heal themselves around you.

Galway Kinnell, “Little Sleep’s-Head Sprouting Hair in the Moonlight”