#53 Behind Each Window


#53 Behind Each Window
1999 – 12 x 17 edition of 17 – $300

Behind Each Window
they land back
in their beds,
the gauze of dreams
falling away.

Here and there
a strand, still tangled
in a woman’s hair,
or wound around the fingers
of a small boy’s hand.

The mind
in those first upright moments,
returning to the jungle
or the stranger’s face
then losing hold,

fastening itself back,
putting the water on for tea.
These mugs that will not be
turned into birds,
thrilling the hand,

the table that keeps its shape;
the house across the lane,
set in the same gray
puzzle of stones
as every other day.

Soon, the first door will open.
The first person will come
around the corner
the way he always does,

briefcase and lunch sack
in the hands
that have lost the memory
of the reins,

the feel of the sweat
on the muscled neck
of the black horse.