Even in sleep,
She is beautiful.

Let her be, Sandor
Says, let’s go drink

And play cards and
Listen to some jazz.

She resembles some
Goddess lying there,

You muse, leaving
Behind Sandor,

Looking back at
Her with her eyes

Closed, her hand
On her breast, there

At rest. Wish I could
Be that hand, you

Inward say, watching
The shadows from

The moon’s shift play
On her cheek and skin.

Sandor pours white
Wine and puts down

The cards; there is cool
Jazz on the gramophone

And she is lying there
Without you, sleeping,

Dreaming, and all alone.