Some nights it is comfort enough
to shed my clothes on my way through the door
with no regard for where they land
and fall asleep in a bed strewn
with books and socks and glasses.
It is enough to sit on the roof writing
letters I will never send, watching the spark
of sunset receding westward on the skyscrapers,
and come inside when I have tired of the quiet
and not at anyone’s beckoning.
Some nights it is intimate enough
to let the cat fall asleep across my chest,
his belly exposed as he buzzes in rapture,
and to concentrate on being still for him.
I have no conclusion.
Tonight it is not enough.
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i think you short changed us with the ending: this is great in creating a lull and a peace, and the stanzas are clearly and simply written in a very beautiful way, so i think it's then up to you to bring us to the end of these comforts and open up the poem to see the maw of what these comforts cannot tackle.
ReplyDeletei'm not sure how you do that, but i think the first three stanzas are pretty much 'finished,' and that this poem is dearly asking for its second half.