Thursday, 7:35 Pm
You, resting on the bed
There are tired wrinkles
In your yellow suit
And the day’s dust
On your face
I prop up my feet
Next to your arm
And wait
The walls of the room
Make a box of
The red-gold evening
Sun light
Your hand near my foot
Curls in and out
An evening bird
Lights on the ledge
Outside our window
Folding his wings
And we smile.
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