The Sacrament of Sleep

I'm not sure I can do this. My timing
is off, and the day's debts collect in
the lids of my eyes like offerings. So
I'll not fight. I pass the plate, fall in.
My jaw slackens, heart slows, ready
for the rinse of rest, brain eager to
bathe in clean ether, an elysian elixir,
of sorts, received in ritual preparation
                                        for resurrection.