Mickey Ithuriel shares the firmament


There is light where she lies,
music where she sleeps. Here,
the room is too small, the bedclothes
are too warm. I can't sleep.
I can't think straight. At the window,
I open the curtains and look out.
The flow of air between the earth
and stars surprises me:
the sky at night is a place we share.
There is no separation. Now she stands
at her own window in a room
grown suddenly too small, too warm,
and watches the air dance out of the valley
into the moon. This shadow on the snow
is not where I live. My home
is near the hollow of her shoulder,
in the neighbourhood of her eyes.


The Antigonish Review, 104 (Winter, 1996): 33.

© 1996 by K.J.H. Berland

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