Let lovers sleep-- the night is mine and mine alone,
and I cannot close my eyes, for I am too busy thinking of the wide world.
I lay here in the pale dark, listening to the night
and I wonder if the universe is so much larger for a fly than it is for a woman--
are the days so much darker for the dead than for me?
I tangle my fingers in my hair and smile;
oh yes, I hear the delicate music creeping through the air,
and of course I am moved, Mother,
how could I not be?
How could you ever expect me to sleep when there is such a place
as this in my mind?
I will never close my eyes again, not when there is air like this to breathe,
not when there is pale dark to bathe in,
not when dawn is a matter of hours away and it is back to the stale air that crumbles in your lungs,
back to the carpet stains and back to all those thoughts
that are trying desperately to fill up my empty little head
or someone's pretty little head
like smoke withering away, dripping lazily out of my lips and into the ears of another
though there is no other,
not for me
not tonight,
tonight is a night to wonder about the universe of flies and women
and if my world will ever grow larger than this pin-head that is threatening to crush me
and a great deal of other things that I'm sure you've thought of, Mother,
though men have been sure that the earth is flat and that flies and women are not so different
so who knows what I'm sure of?
I certainly don't.