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.