almost without surface

Almost Without Surface
by Kay Ryan 

Sometimes before
going to sleep a person
senses the give
behind the last given, 

almost physically,
like the strain
of plush against
a skin. 

The person imagines
a fig or peach,
perhaps a woman or
a deep constellation:
some fathomless
fruit. 

But we are each
that, while we live,
however much
we resist: almost
without surface, barely
contained, 

but crazy
as clouds compounding
each other, refusing
to rain.