Day 4: The Music of the Spheres

[ekaterinn]

The Music of the Spheres

you sleep,
your back cut by the lime
of your dress,
your left shoulder rising
with your breath,
my breath, mixing with
the air-conditioning.

the last shuttle breaks though the clouds,
shooting straight towards the heavens
that we see only fleetingly in dreams.

I believe in the glory of small things;
the ice clinking & melting in the glass;
the sky bisected & complete through the blinds;
the book hidden & waiting in the shop -
(I believe in you).