What Sarah Said

In the orange-cast grey buzz kitchen
your light words clink together like glass beads--

the tension of the night is a taught string
through us from soft soil to the stars.

My throat trembles with the weight
of the words, that finally
spill out from my mouth like drops of rain:

"what",
and the words fall
"is the meaning of it all?
the thing that we're all moving towards?"


silence spins as answers are
measured, formed, examined, weighed--
I hardly dare breathe and break the dance.


Finally I chance a look
and that furtive glance reveals
your face wrapped loose
in sleep.

For that moment you are still
immobile as the kitchen clock--
its black hands are your breath.

Suddenly
you
shudder shake
your eyes shoot open
in a shock
I half expect you'll snap
stock straight and
scream free from a nightmare.

Instead you turn, your eyes scream-blue
the words brush sleepy, urgent past your lips:


"I dreamt that I was dreaming,
I mean I dreamt I was asleep.

I dreamt that I was dreaming
and I had to wake up,
                          wake up!
                                 wake up!

I had to wake up.

and so,

            I did."