In the semidark we take everything off,
love standing, inaudible; then we crawl into bed.
You sleep with your head balled up in its dreams,
I get up and sit in the chair with a warm beer,
the lamp off. Looking down on a forested town
in a snowfall I feel like a novel—dense
and vivid, uncertain of the end—watching
the bundled outlines of another woman another man
hurrying toward the theater’s blue tubes of light.
Copyright © 2002 C.D. Wright
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.