Dec 09, 2004 16:22
She sleeps, lips round, see how at rest,
How dark the hair, unstrung with all the world;
See the desirable eyes, how still, how white, sealed to all faces, locked agaisnt ruin, favor, and every risk,
Nothing behind them now but a pale mirage,
Through which the night-time ragman of the street belows moves in a stiff and slow ballet,
Rhythmic from door to door, hallway to curb and gutter to stoop, bat's eyes bright, ravenous, ravenous for the carrion found and brought by tireless fingers to unreal lips;
Her hand relaxed beside the enchanted head, mouth red, small,
See how at peace the human form can be, whose sister, whose sweetheart, daughter of whom, and now the adorable ears, coral and pink,
Deaf to every footfall, every voice,
Midnight threats, the rancor stifled in rented bedrooms, appeals urged across kitchen tables and the fury that shouts them down, gunfire, screams, the sound of pursuit,
All of these less than the thunderous wings of a moth that circles here in the room where she sleeps,
Sleeps, dreaming that she sleeps and dreams.
--kenneth fearing