BROADBAND

For obvious reasons, 

it's nice
to believe 

that sleep is not a rehearsal 

for dying, 

nor is it some strange and 

colorless landscape 

into which we all plummet 

once the small aircraft

staffed by our consciousness 

is harrowingly dog-fought 

out of commission. 

Instead, perhaps its 

thick swarms of 

amorphous propagation

function more like training 

for the actual mission—

namely: our melding 

into all that is

presently happening, 

a rejoining with the program 

already in progress, 

which, one day, will require 

a focus so wide, 

an attention so general

that we won't even think 

of its opposite 

as narrow.