Funny,
the muses neglected to visit
while you slept with your head on my shoulder,
while my fingers wrote wordless sonnets
in your hair,
while we unfolded the rich and mysterious
discovery of each other
like a heavily embroidered cloth

But tonight while the lamp burns
while regret presses his heavy head against me,
while you sleep in solitude
in a room on the other side of town,
a hesitant cadence
a string of words
begins to stich the unravelled cloth
attempting to complete
what we could not