IN THE
ROOM
The women are touching their buttons; it's
enough for me. Those cloaks, the jackets
they wear, everything about them riles. Halos
and auras, like a rim around each, present to
me the fetching sights. Outside the doorway,
just there, the dark-night lights of the little
street beckon - people come and go as
the glass door's hinges squeak. No matter,
as no one looks up to notice. This is a
curious time for most anything, and I
am duly engrossed. Labels and beer,
coffees, teas and soda. Ashtrays and
magazines. A crazed array of sound
and sight and movement and light.
-
It's exactly fourteen after one, and
two little people have come in.
Literally little people. She barely
reaches the table's heights, and
he - by her side - seems as well
no bigger than a flea. As a pair
they are a duo of one. I love
their place and presence:
-
As if another world had suddenly
entered into mine - different view,
different source, different journey.
So that, then, to bring you comfort,
I lean back a bit as we begin to talk.
It is a wonderful occasion, whenever
we can be together: mountains fall
and hillocks dwindle. All things
become a smooth as glass.
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