Bright is the day on the other side of the shade. Uneasy
is my back against the pillow. Leftover tension
from the week of what didn’t or couldn’t. Last night
I visited a museum hung with photographs of not people
from the week of what didn’t or couldn’t. Last night
I visited a museum hung with photographs of not people
but the possessions they owned, writing desk
whittled low from use, buttons on the poet’s dress
as if sanded from fondling.
He will come down the hall shortly to hang his coat up
He moves plates around now in their cabinets, unable
to let them remain idle, draining water in repose.
I tense in anticipation while in fact he may lean over
and
lightly press his lips to my neck.
I tense in anticipation while in fact he may lean over
