I carry from sleep this very room defined
By a clipped table light, an indistinct moth
A chair plastic in its back and sitting whitely.
I like to be defined by a tree back to the sun
And sitting wisely on drops of words in light.
The chair likes to be defined by a warm bum
And aching back of history, from shadows
Of night after night sleeping, stomach silent
From poems emerging to fingers on letters
Table light is defined by the room of shadow
But would like to be defined by a pair of eyes
And the soft touch of a body where it curves
On the wall ,with a moth walking in shadow.
The moth carries its room with it on the wall
A room of light to embrace a result of death.
The chair carries a room with it of warm bum
Bristling with possibility of not being in time.
Posted at 03:10 pm by adukuri