out on the steps
he stands, looking up
dreams, looking up
at the woman in her
room
aglow in the glare
of a naked bulb
thinking of time
feverishly strokes his
head
and thinks of thousands
of women
in thousands of rooms
in the glow
changing, always the
same
woman
in front of him
leaves pirouette on
the lawn
planes blink
overhead
heart-shaped leaves
in the darkness
fill like sails in empty
space
he muses how we commit
our crimes
without raising a finger,
shed tears
before the tragedy is
mounted
in the beginning we
look for the end
in winter, the transport
to summer
this woman
engaged in so cruel
an act
as undressing
on this bare stage room
glare of this light
she closes and goes
to bed
he shivers, listens
under starry skies
car horns dominating
the smell of roses
red moon under the wind
leaves dancing on lawns
blue lawns running
in every direction
catching up with the
horizon
lights on hills
blinking out like rows
of dominoes
the smell of roses
the red moon
the stars blinking off
and on
© Jeffrey Round 1992
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