October Aubade If I slept too long, forgive me. A north wind quickened the window frames
so the room pitched like a moving train and the pillow's whiff of hickory
and shaving soap conjured your body beside me. So I slept in the berth
as the train chuffed on, unburdened by waking's cold water, ignorant
of pain, estrangement, hunger and the crucial fuel the boiler burned
...
Related Subjects
Poetry