Falling
from a tree in the mist forest Sleep
there is no sound and I have opened
one eye at the knife-edge in the undiscovered room.
The last dream of my life is this one eye
but it is waiting to look
and for this stubborn moment to end
and for your city to wake with its chatter
and you
are still dreaming, but you know
as I do now that the walls in your room are flapping flags
and the mute sky beyond those flags will always be
a frozen fabric of crystal unblinking stars
which also watch but they cannot stop
the armies who will stamp in the dawn
in a moment.
I am surprised that I can breathe
but of course I am not awake
and the fragrance of your hair
on my face
and the closeness of your back
is the blessed landscape
in which I am captured.
Can you still be asleep
when the moon of your face is rising
and you are turning with eyes still shut
to kiss my other eye open.
I see that your face has no words
and no promises
that a desire will ever again be answered
until every dark mirror
and every door and window
in this tiny room is opened,
and eyes to eyes
you have summoned me
waking woman
to share the coming of your sun
in another country. |
