The Red Cup

Pain and dread

wrapped with certainty bind me

here

against the sheets against

the pillow

against time and all odds.

I am surrounded by choice

if I only knew what

was wanting and what was simple habit.

I see you in my half-awake dreams,

the slight arc of your

smile,

as you consider an answer

and I concoct another question

to fit inside the space between

your bones.

God winds everything loosely

I tug along the lines of

invisible forces, tightening

til

my own throat is dark.

I miss you.

Come back.

I remember now,

dark clouds against the horizon

this dream

doesn’t work;

pour some coffee

in the red cup,

go outside to sit.

Comments

[dale]

"This dream doesn't work." Yeah.

Thank you. A great poem. I hope not purchased too dear.