The Shaggy Carpet

Candles waste their romantic

madrigals through the lonely particles

of dust

floating aimlessly towards their end:

A shaggy carpet trodden upon

by far too little feet.

Through the window drifts

whispers of lovers:

outside and above,

downwards and beyond.

The blinds drawn to signal

bare to those looking in.

This bed, a holding

for the center piece to this

scene of self-pity:

Me.

The blankets groan lousily

around my legs,

and the pillow between them:

a stiff model of

intimacy.

______________

But the blinds begin to dance

in the wake of the moon,

who lets loose her hair

and sings to those who harken

down below.

And I know you hear her call;

her amorous serenade which beckons

your heart.

For it beckons mine too;

The celestial reaping of

the lonely sigh;

the aching chest;

the empty hands:

the tear-stricken heart.

Her ethereal clout wipes them dry:

her drapes of light

hung across the

freckled sky.

How simple and silly this must seem

from up there,

where everything is tiny

and fair.

How small the sea

between us looks,

to the Moon and her incandesce hair.

How many lovers send their cry

to her pale and open ear,

That she may hear them and send her love

in the letter to my dear.