You Sleep Untroubled | Charles Schubert
I listen to the hollow tinder box of space
between your ribs. Something will go wrong here,
I think. You or I will lean in to listen at nothing, to what
some Christians call a joyous silence. Grass flat
before a relentless wind. Finding nothing more here to whisper
at, you or I will stand and wonder what comes next.
For now the sap rises quick through the trunk, we are still
filled with night music, bodies rasp and shudder. One of us worries
about the future, the other is too tired to care what can be heard.