Monday, March 19, 2012

Looking Back

Looking Back

He broke into our room
and laid on my bed as if he were dead,
bald angel blocking and shaping
the fragile light.  I said: gently,
then he clambered on top of me.  Disoriented

by the softness of his lips and the mental
image of his empty bed, I couldn’t believe
this was happening, so I started to talk. 
That did not please him.
He got up and buried himself in his bed. 

I had made him uncomfortable.
Perhaps, he thought I was afraid
he’d have an epileptic attack .  My world
pyramided with grape baskets leaning
like the sea to my hands.

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