Midnight Air
Sleeping on the midnight air
is another face,
oddly from the past.
I have heard music come from other rooms
suddenly before you, with another grace,
removed from that, in there;
it takes the body’s place
dancing oddly all alone through the night air.
Later, after the Ball, after the getting into cars,
after getting used to screeching brakes
and little noises in the brain, and sobbing lights,
you find your room again.
Quite calm, folding your handkerchief on the table,
you feel the deep night giving up its fragments.
Outside it has begun to snow.
You don’t see it you just know.