Poem

The Big Sleep

Before closure:
on the slope of the hill,
soft, clumps of mowed grass
pillow my head with meshed cuttings
and the fresh smell

my eyes read the dusk sky
for first winks of stars and the cusps
of the smiling crescent moon, the one who lays
snug against me, shoulder to shoulder,
does not disturb the gathering cricket song
or my mind – a night latch without a key –
a slap at a mosquito curbs the cricket chirp stream

her chest heaves steady, deep,
I know she dreams of “esta um dia
tão bonito lá fora…”

two birds on a telephone line are
identical as the last sinews of day drag
across my sky’s ceiling of cover; a wild
Canadian goose, no, a flock in a ‘V’ honks heading
south, the sound far-off along some natural map
marker, the echoing hangs
on the slipping light
a tribute, taps. Sunset.
And a first kiss of star light:
I wish I may, I wish I might, live forever.