Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Fading Light


Late sun smoothes her quilted skin,
her cheeks rise under her eyes.
She’s silent in the car, squints
at streetlights flaring up along the road.

She says nothing when I feed her,
but I see how she tracks the glint
that bounces off the spoon.

When downtown smog smudges
her bedroom windowpane, I begin
to draw the drapes. She tugs at my wrist.
It’s not enough, she says, but let it in.

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