Sunday, September 16, 2007

Sunday Afternoon



You are sitting in your chair
watching sinuous
cadenzas of smoke in the
sun. I say the day
is too beautiful to waste.
You don’t answer,
but in a few seconds say
“It’s too beautiful
to stay inside. Let’s go out.”

Walking with you quietly
at dusk, I say how
brilliant the sky is in the
west, but find myself
alone, gaping, turn to search
for you, until, at
my blind elbow, you say how
brilliant the sky is
some spring evenings in the north.

Then, in our news-printed sheets
I listen to your
breath, careful not to wake you,
conjure faces from
the ceiling, but in a while
you mumble something
I don’t quite catch. From the edge
of sleep I say “What?”
You, awake now, say “What? What?”

5 comments:

John Eaton said...

Righteous lines, John.

And the squirrel is very cool,

John

John said...

Thanks, John, and back at you...

Absolute Vanilla (and Atyllah) said...

Ah yes, what it's like not being listened to.

Minx said...

Like parallel railway tracks, but can we ever be sure that we are going in the same direction? Probably best off up a siding on yer own!

John said...

HI, Abs and Minx--this is an old one. Quite resolved now. Now we're both miscommunicating with others...