lxxi

seizes the night, and lets it
go--surely

the moon, over the hills,
holding, if

the street widened, fell
momentarily,

I would walk, tired and
aching,

below the shadow of that
light, leading

(the bamboo hums)

I would shudder, by the
large window, shuddering

in the window, towards the
the light falling

(the bamboo gasps, falls
forward, rustles)

across the walk, I would lay
below the balcony,

(hisses, whispers, rustles
carries tongues, through the
fence)

I would rest, the morning light
blank, across the empty
carpet--I would lay

under the breeze

(falls and flaps, whistles,
and sags forward)

the vague buzz of morning,
the gate creaks,

breaks the leaves, against
the cement

I would fall, lay,
sleep,

(stands still, maybe gleaming,
the sunlight utters nothing)

even in the face of footfalls, if
I could sleep, once

more (rustles, shudders, hisses
rustles, falls still), the light
blinding, still--