The speaker declares she will stop calling insomnia 'losing sleep' and will rename what she loses instead.

The speaker gets her 'horns in a thing' — stuck in a grief or wonder like a beast in a labyrinth.

The speaker renames anxiety 'desire,' choosing a transformative new word for her sleepless experience.

Lorca's 'verde que te quiero verde' is quoted, weaving green longing into the poem's language.

The speaker declares she is a night-field where any worry is ready to flower inside her chest.

Without exhaustion from her lover, the speaker spends another night wandering the desire field.

The speaker bells the meadow between midnight and morning in the restless, green night.

Gold grasshoppers kick and leap at the speaker's brow during the witched, sleepless hours.

The speaker wants her lover's green life — a green hour inside her that she cannot stop.

Green desire floods the poem as green vein, green wing, and green thorn interlace the two lovers.

The speaker wants her lover 'like a river goes, bending' — desire becomes a flowing, unstoppable force.

The speaker declares 'soy una sonámbula,' surrendering fully to the sleepwalking, dreaming state.

The poem's tone breaks as the poetic voice drops and a plain, confessional voice emerges.

The speaker asks her friend to tell a specific story — about planting sweet grass.

The speaker imagines smelling the sweet smoke of burned sweet grass and leaving the thrashed field.

The poem opens with the speaker refusing to call her condition insomnia, immediately reframing loss and sleeplessness as something new. She renames anxiety 'desire' and connects her longing to Lorca's greening Spanish verse, becoming a night-field where worry flowers inside her. Without her lover's exhausting presence, she wanders the desire field all night, belling the meadow and watching gold grasshoppers leap at her brow. Green desire crescendos as her lover's body merges with hers through vein, wing, thorn, and river, before the speaker declares herself a sleepwalker. The poem then breaks into plain speech as the speaker asks a close friend to tell a story about planting sweet grass until its sacred smoke calms everything and leaves her smooth.

The speaker's journey from sleepless anxiety to green desire to quiet.

The speaker references the friend who lost her 'rosen moon,' placing the poem inside a private correspondence.

The speaker admits to trembling before facing the difficult feeling she is about to name.

Anxiety is named directly in the poem before being immediately transformed into something new.

Anxiety receives a second new name — 'a garden' — and the poem's natural imagery takes root.

The speaker's nighttime mind is named 'una bestia' — hot, unfocused, and untamed in the dark.

The phrase 'the desire field' appears, naming the space the speaker wanders on sleepless nights.

The speaker is bewildered in the night's low green glow — lost in a bright, restless darkness.

Insomnia is compared to Spring — surprising and many-petaled, full of unexpected abundance.

The speaker is struck in the witched hours of want — Christian nighttime dread reframed as erotic desire.

Green vein in the lover's throat and green wing in the speaker's mouth fuse the two bodies together.

'Green moving green, moving' — the final image of the lovers merging before the poem's tonal shift.

The speaker acknowledges something her friend said earlier, recognizing the friend already knew her struggle.

The speaker asks permission to confess she does not feel good after all her reimagining.

The story of sweet grass must be told again and again until the speaker can smell its sweet smoke.

Burning sweet grass in ceremony purifies and attracts positive energy — the sacred practice the speaker invokes.

The poem is rooted in a private correspondence, opening with a reference to the friend's lost 'rosen moon' that anchors the poem as an intimate letter. The speaker trembles before naming her condition, then gives anxiety two new names — desire and garden — before her nighttime mind erupts as 'una bestia,' hot and unfocused. The poem widens into the green glow of the sleepless night, comparing insomnia to Spring and reframing the witched hours as a space of erotic longing. Green intensifies through the interlaced bodies of the two lovers until 'green moving green, moving' captures their fluid merging. The poem then shifts as the speaker acknowledges what her friend already knew, asks permission to confess she does not feel good, and imagines the sacred smell of sweet smoke as the thing that will finally quiet her restless mind.

The poem's language and imagery unfolding from naming to green abundance to ceremony.

The speaker reveals her insomnia as a chronic, recurring condition lasting from midnight to morning.

The sticky and ruined fruit metaphor reveals how hard it is for the speaker to release a gripping feeling.

The speaker trembles before naming the feeling — the last moment before language transforms everything.

The speaker decides to face the feeling head-on rather than avoid it — a turning point of courage.

The garden metaphor's expansion into a full 'field' signals a crucial shift in the scale of the speaker's desire.

The beast erupting in the speaker's mind reveals that desire in the dark is hot, untamed, and ungovernable.

The many-petaled Spring comparison reveals insomnia as not merely frustrating but abundantly alive.

Gold grasshoppers leaping at the brow reveal the speaker's restless night thoughts as precious and alive.

The speaker reaches peak desire — struck in the witched hours, unable to stop wanting her lover.

The speaker wants her lover inside her — the poem's most intimate and urgent physical revelation.

The green thorn in the speaker's eye reveals that even painful desire is welcomed as something alive.

'Soy una sonámbula' echoes Lorca's sleepwalker, completing the circle from the poem's opening declaration.

The plain confession 'I don't feel good' reveals that language's reimagining has not fully resolved her distress.

Sweet grass is introduced as Native American ceremony — a sacred force beyond the reach of words alone.

The final word 'smooth' resolves the poem — calm achieved through friendship and sacred ceremony.

The poem's first revelation is that insomnia is chronic, persisting between midnight and morning, and that the speaker is determined to face it differently through language. Before naming her feeling, she trembles — the last moment before language transforms everything — and then makes the pivotal decision to confront the feeling rather than avoid it. The garden metaphor's expansion into a full 'field' signals a crucial shift in the poem's scale, while the beast metaphor reveals the nighttime mind as a force beyond control. Insomnia is revealed as many-petaled and Spring-like, and gold grasshoppers leap as symbols of the mind's unexpected richness, before desire reaches its most urgent physical peak in the green thorn, green vein, and green wing. The sleepwalker declaration surrenders to the dreaming self, but the plain confession 'I don't feel good' reveals that all the reimagining has not fully cured the speaker, and friendship and sacred ceremony must complete the work that language alone cannot finish.

The poem's key revelations about language, desire, identity, and the limits of reimagining.