Late blessing

You were sleeping and
I did not tell you that
the soul stops at a waking
for a moment, and returns.

This room is double or triple or gone
chilled and hard theatrical
colored and thin layered with
the rough paper texture of a dream.

There are steps and they turn
on the edges of this bounded world
upwards and upward
to arches that round the sky below.

You were sleeping and
here in this city of
old wood and porches
we rest in the shadow
the ghost of the smokestack tower
casts below.

You were sleeping and
there are cobwebs on the ceiling and
I was waking now and
this room is singular
and dark, and warm.


untagged

118 Words

2018-03-04 19:00 -0500