when it is time to roam toward sleep, one pencils in an attitude
(not once have I begun to mourn in future tense
half out of alignment with whatever was supposed
(in a splintered derivation of replenishing I form the next
now held up to light into an afternoon
(only supposing yours is the colonial impasse of worn feathers
made whole of an indifference perhaps time and a half
(plebians count themselves into an ether that they ache to subdivide
the hour to close the light according to the idiom
(at last unexpected as peace always is
you will safen me and my endowments
(typified by peacetime
I have held you history has gently meted out
(my sound cave in which hurt is relieved
this small rectangle of us on the boat when we were there
(you looked into the face of the photographer with such love
together impolitely toggling on and off our shared picture of the new world
(requiring nothing more than our agreement balancing mid-breeze
sheila e. murphy
