But that’s what happens,
when you let yourself sink into the covers,
never to rise,
until the world shifts its course.
I try to change the paintings on the walls around you,
as not to disturb your fitful slumber,
but so that when you wake,
you will be overtaken,
Nevertheless, the world will continue its course,
with or without our feelings,
so I just let my voice cower under the cool draft,
sinking in from the cracked window.
In the bathroom,
I let my sight,
spill on to the floor.
It makes me lighter.
That way my ears can float,
on the adagio notes that waft in,
from the kitchen,
in our sticky apartment.
My body continues,
its assiduous routine;
wishing its agitation will stir you back,