"The Soul selects her own society- then - shuts the door"
neither silent nor desultory
flutter of his breath
crinkle of sheets
birdsong, nightsong
faint howling from the streets
come back to me
he wishes, has been wishing
and he thinks she hears, loud and clear although a lot too late.
When she is back, it is real
and 30 seconds seem like hours
even here
watching The Lover sleep
plush white bed
looking at verdant grasses and water 'neath a Juliet balcony
I pray to enter the blissful land of your narcoleptic slumber
for peace and to give you a little hope, give you all the little pieces
to put them back together in a mosaic, in a mosque
while I wash and pray up and down.
