in time

weeping willow goes to sleep

and i am on my coverlet so

cold

 

but if it comes to solid ones

i’ll take the fishing game of ghosts

no more hangman

no more crosswords

i can’t take that confrontation

 

no i’ll take my happy nap

and feign a dream of slow unwinding

when it comes it comes fast

 

the sorest pride is left in suds

the countertop is never clean

 

the waiting is the anxious game

the memories lie still, do we

dare to nudge them to confirm

that they are just asleep?

 

i can’t deal with heavy bodies now

let them blend into the scenery

they will pulsate just the same

full of blood, the progeny of our

mingling

 

how shall we find strangers to

adopt them all?