The Sparrows Are Sleeping Late

you are fine white earthenware

a porcelain gift in a stranger’s hands

you gathered yourself around me,

introduced me to your ancestors

and your quilts, arranged and re-arranged baskets,

catered to the cats, tendered the plants,

and mixed your books in with mine

I was comfortable with us

all my dead ends turned to footpaths

and long leisurely walks home

you were someone soft

I wanted my hands to know a lifetime

flute and violin, always to possess

a corner of my morning sun

the leaves of 15 summers

turned in our reflection


the sparrows are sleeping late

the shades are drawn

in the breakfast room

and the music of our promised lifetime

a soft  irreversible memory

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s