Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Duane Ackerson Night Falling Asleep Just before dawn, night falls asleep in my bed, a book escaping dozing hands to tumble slow        motion toward              the                    floor. This at last is enough to rouse me from its torpor. When I pick the book up try to find a place for myself in the story, all the pages have gone pale; I see the last words on the last page climbing a fresh        ladder      of light out the window to where the first bird is opening its hymnal. Next Poem
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