09-26-2022, 01:55 PM
She’s already awake when
the morning sun splits the curtains.
She turns to the one beside her,
a single beam across his face.
The morning sun splits the curtains.
The days somehow stretch fore and aft.
A single beam across his face.
Nothing light can show anew.
The days somehow stretch fore and aft
Rehearsal for an empty house.
Her thoughts a hemisphere away.
Lying in another bed.
Rehearsal for an empty house.
The motions now are all for show.
And shows must go on-
on until the curtains close.
the morning sun splits the curtains.
She turns to the one beside her,
a single beam across his face.
The morning sun splits the curtains.
The days somehow stretch fore and aft.
A single beam across his face.
Nothing light can show anew.
The days somehow stretch fore and aft
Rehearsal for an empty house.
Her thoughts a hemisphere away.
Lying in another bed.
Rehearsal for an empty house.
The motions now are all for show.
And shows must go on-
on until the curtains close.
"What I want in poetry is a kind of abstract photography of the nerves, but what I like in photography is the poetry of literal pictures of the neighborhood." -John Koethe