The summer evening chilled from a cool breeze.
Through his open window, a man observed
The robins fly across a purple sky.
He thought of songs and poems, rules and plots
And then he thought of her and how she lay
Curled up like a cat as he read to her.
He thought of the way she watched his eyes trail
Words on paper, his face shift expressions,
His chest heave and his fingers comb her hair.
Existence’s the only fact — that, he knew,
And yet, he dreamt of her again, a dream
So vivid, almost there before his eyes
She danced and swirled. He felt her gentle touch
That eased his pain — her fingers warm against
His wounds, waving off his worries. She said,
“It’s alright, baby, we’ll be fine,” and smiled.
But when he reached out to her, his failure
Withered his heart. Her lips kissed his forehead
And asked him to read. She curled up once more,
Laying safe on his lap, lost in his words
She slowly waned as she fell back asleep.