Sleeping Late

You left the bedroom without waking me.Alone in bedI'm drifting uncommitted, out of time.No one is waiting for me to wake up.So burrow deeper into neutral light.Volleyball on the beach in Tel Aviv.Solemn symposiasts. Contractors from the citymake their presentation: to burya rusty Cadillac nose downunder the hill among our maple trees.I say no no no and they're offendeduntil I mention Andy Goldsworthy:a wall might work, red leaves, a heap of stonesto be dismantled afterwards, like dreams.

Epiphany: to get a silent person talking,ask them about their visions.Epiphany: for the babies in the family,to plan a future when the poles have melted,no ice, no birds, no time. Is it still morningI'm waking to? So lightly dipping back,wrapped up in love and trouble,the tangled ribbons of body and of mind,and finally waking to the blank-faced baldsimplicity Virginia Woolf may have been thinking ofwhen she wrote about the army of the upright;then up and out the door into a worldwild and tame, full of precarious promise,to be dismantled afterwards in dreams.