Solar system bedsheets There, behind sunlight,
is the long pressure
of a child's love. Becoming mute
with the child's love. Long influence of stars touched
by the hand wrapped, asleep,
in the newly laundered sheets. Touched
to widths of butterscotch
stretched. Split-apart as the voices, rain thickening,
against one another forever, if glass. Forever
if resting against one another. Forever
if holding the end of a year like this: the nights
lengthening. I check: each child
is alive in his sleep. You are also asleep, love,
at the end of the yarn
you are weaving around the edge of a pink paper heart
fattening—quieter, now. Forever, if quieter, now. |
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