Then the street disappears in the eyes
that meet mine,
and it's one more time on the merry go round.
Silently,
the street reappears and veers off into
some distant place,
like the look sometimes that
appears on her face.

The darker the night
the keener my sight and
the nearness of her is almost
too much to bear,
but I wear myself to the bone
in the thinness of thinking
of us in our home,
so I sleep but keep
one eye on her,
one ear to the ground and
it's one more time on the
merry go round.