ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 4
WE KNOW THIS
The dead are sleepless, we know this, they need no rest. With
no sleep comes no dreams, and they live in reality. Unlike us
their reasoning is perfect, they accept no delusions. Like the
ants their nation is rational, unerring. They cannot be hurt:
no fear. Numerous as they are, the way they live ensures that
their needs do not empty their surroundings or crowd each other
out. Wakeful, reasonable, faultless, desiring nothing and never
afraid, how could we ever understand them even enough to be
enemies? Surely they must be puzzled by us, too, since the only
thing they have forgotten is the need to sleep. They must
wonder a little, if they ever notice it, how still we are hours
at a stretch, eyes closed; never guessing at the impossible
things we live through every night.