You lie bent up in embryo sleep
Below the painting of the blue fisherman
Without a pillow
The checkered cover kicked and tangled on the
Floor
The old house creaking now
A car going by
The wind
A fire engine up the hill
I've disentangled myself from you
Moved silently
Groping in the dark for cigarettes
And now three cigarettes later
Still elated
Still afraid
I sit across the room watching you -
The light from the street lamp coming through the
Shutters
Hysterical patterns flash on the wall sometimes
When a car goes by
Otherwise there is no change
Not in the way you lie curled up
Not in the sounds that never come from you
Not in the discontent I feel
You've filled completely
This first November day
With Sausalito and sign language
Canoe and coffee
Ice cream and your wide eyes
And now unable to sleep
Because the day is finally going home
Because your sleep has locked me out
I watch you and wonder at you
I know your face by touch when it's dark
I know the profile of your sleeping face
The sound of you sleeping
Sometimes I think you were all sound
Kicking free of covers
And adjusting shutters
Moving about in the bathroom
Taking twenty minutes of our precious time
I know the hills
And gullys of your body
The curves
The turns
I have total recall of you
And Stanyan Street
Because I know it will be important later
It's quiet now
Only the clock
Moving toward rejection tomorrow
Breaks the stillness
There are golden apples to be picked
And green hills to climb
And meadows to run when you're young
There are roaring rivers to be crossed
And bridges to build
And wild oats to sow as you grow
But later on the other side of time
The apples no longer taste sweet
Bridges fall down
Meadows turn brown
As life falls apart
In a little room on Stanyan Street
