a slumbrous knee and shadows closing
rouse the dress, her luminous lap

far from the morning when her hands wove
music and ribbons around the maypole,
when children sang against sprawled
voices sleeping --

for her the day flares slowly, airbrushing
the immaculate, che bella notte

Max sits in the box, rests in the nook
of her crooked arm -- above the warm flush
of her beaded gown, the applause refocuses

on them, in their corner
where she pulls his lip in a tiny bite,
slips secrets like a full moon rising

between white candles
the breeze, his rising -- fall drops its reds
and he holds out her coat

she slips the arms, running.



� 2004 by PJ Nights