© Margaret Wesseling
We went to sleep
you and I in her bed
in your mother’s house.
Outside it rained and dogs
barked. In the discussion room
people were forceful and elegant.
I decided many futures, decided
to sleep longer.
In the light box under the covers
under the ceiling in the rain
in the little mud town.
Next to the wall the tree waited
and waited, tapped and tapped.
Water settled on the leaves.
The wind moved, the wind stirred
the water. The tree was cold.
The air around the house was cold
the full air
full of its own breath
of the moisture of its breathing.
A man was walking the roads
outside the town. Mud from the roads
stuck to his feet. Wind stirred
the rain on his shoulders. His feet
tapped the wet ground.
My mind asleep to the sound
of his feet, of the leaves of the wet air
and the rain decided futures, decided
he would be in the light box.