I dreamt my father was sleepwalking again, going down to the kitchen
and drinking orange juice because he thought it was wine.
My old ex-boyfriend used to sleepwalk too, and I’d wake up
in the middle of the night and discover an indent in the bed beside me,
the soft shape where his body used to be, and would find him
standing on the roof, pacing, his toes getting closer and closer
to the edge. I never knew whether to hold him, or stand next to him
and wait for the fall myself.
In ancient Egpyt, they used to press coins over the eyes
of the dead and fill their mouths with smoke, so that every time
the wind rustled their bones, it would look like they were breathing
their last breath,
only for the second time.