Exercise Part I

And you came through the tunnel window
wearing the socks I gave you last
Christmas
(I had little else to gift you)

You came through the window grinding
the glass deeper into the oak floorboards
(I must admit it was a surprise you
didn’t wake me.)

You were in the window while
the Tattered moon shone
through my curtains, gave a forced
grin behind linen and clouds.

And in between the Man of Cheese,
the window,
and my bedroom,
Nothing raised an Olyve Oil rubber hose of an arm

Your gauzy silhouette waved
(body thin as an empty dress)
(and just as hollow)
Beckoning me toward the overflowing cup of
tea.
(Poured by an empty hand.)

I chose instead to close my eyes, and go back to sleep.
I chose instead the dream, and the broken glass.

This work by Michael W. Hyde is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.