Elsewhere in Dreams

When they laid his body down, you didn’t
wail or beat his wooden chest or
demand they shovel you under.

These years after he sings beneath
your window: you wake,
and your new lover wakes,
and you stare out to the wall
on which he once stood.

What is it? the new lover asks.
Oh, you reply, just the moon.
The moon casting a shadow
of ash flowing off the wall,
and the moon sending white
brick after white brick to
build it up again.

In the morning, he is gone;
your hair is brimming with wisdom;
the singer and the wall are ever
fainter and farther away.

Tags: poetry

This entry was posted on Friday, July 3rd, 2009 at 4:26 pm and is filed under main. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.