Coming back to bed
I understood in my confusion that I want and I don’t want.
I see, I thought (but I didn’t see).
You told me once, before you left, that I was… you paused… clumsy
I wondered if it was true and what you meant.
The full moon shines through the window,
A dusty ball of dirt, inert- yet it glows with a memory of you
It does not show hope or fear, or love, or distraction, though I think it does
The banal face of a rock I nightly screened my grief upon
So clumsy am I.
Yet I would have soared with the Apollo craft.
Made a small step upon the face of Tranquility
Our world of wonder, joyful under the jewel of Earth
Oh no, that could never be (you said), too… clumsy.
So I am marooned on the lunar surface of my pillow.
There is no movement on the lunar surface now
Your hair was scattered like a crater shadow across the bed.
Now long gone, and your soft breathing is on another pillow far away,
Only the cold moon shining
On the arid, empty landscape.
Were you ever here?
For longer than the moon has smiled,
It seems a dream I had but minutes since.
Your comfort, your presence, your cyan-blue eyes
But I was woken by a harder voice…”clumsy”
My dreams, of late, are silent as a vacuum
I no longer see your face, or hear your voice.
The smiling Moon is silent too, complicit.
So, I sit. I turn over and lie down. I see, as my eyes close (but I don’t see).
Downie covered, I remember, I remember.