To hear you I must close the window—
close out the sound of children and traffic.
What you say will hang between us like a glow
or a vibration of thought so clear or so
precise as to seem tangible and thick,
to hear you I will close the window.
Inside voices and sounds blend and grow,
each, a thread weaving into something like a candle wick
carefully lit: its fire between us describes a glow—
Quivering light that undoes a circle of shadow,
a moment grown unknown as habit; a lick
of flame hanging in the blank of thin glass—a closed window—
Below us a tv set chatters on, and tomorrow
other voices will swarm here, perhaps more quick,
or less so, but what now hangs between us is the glow
of lush primordial lands over which grow
hearts under suns antic, hillsides of red poppies hectic—
to hear you I must close the window:
what you say hangs between us like a glow
