You've been cross-dressing again, dear sidestreet,
And I've been staring at you for so long, while the noise
Of the seven jazz quartets (almost six cellos in all)
Has been ringing inside me like a thousand quivering bells
Pulled from the quiver of some gypsy
And her row of horsehair tapestries
Almost warmer than the skin
Of another moonlit, pale wire
Hanging over me like frost against a windowpane
Reflecting roaming wolves in the water
And the us between the leaves.
I am scared now. Away from me, go, until I turn
My clock ahead a few hours, just in time for summer solstice.
Daylight savings time never meant much until you gave up.
Until she came inside and tore down the curtains.
It's too bright in here, you used to say.
I almost think I'm beginning to agree.
