Classic Poem

Still asleep his body wakes from sleep
only his watch has slept
from which the sun rises
for he eats not when he is hungry
but when his watch tells him
only enjoying his siesta
on the same terms
he is his watch

the day's cycle begins
" morning "
" morning "
" tea? "
" you? "
" coffee please "

wipes his glasses
lights a cigarette
pages through the papers

The room is long and narrow
the three of us read yesterday's papers
hearing the silence that builds on the ceiling
" reading something interesting these days? "
" just a book with nothing to do with poetry "
the greyhaired woman
fills her water glass
walks back and forth
holding the glass half-empty in her hands
" please close that door "
" I'll close it partway "

At the table faces
growing long and sleepy
as day begins its round
only growing round and alive
when day ends
a hidden light sparking
in the ashes of our eyes
we leave, moving to where
day begins a second round

Noon and time slumps
the vast square crowded with the same faces
that thronged there in the morning
everybody knows him
a woman used to his face might look back
and search his face with her eyes
on his way home or in the store
meeting those faces he almost greets
but when his eyes meet theirs
they look away staring instead
at a pair of breasts passing by
or a fruit juice stand
evening and time falls
sticky, heavy with the day's dust
" will you eat or rest? "
he sags into a long wooden chair
the garden path is empty
at the sound of his steps
sleeping weeds stir
" eat or rest? "
he sinks into his glass
remembering how flies buzzed
hither thither, then died

Night and time slip past
like a shadow stealing its way to bed
every corridor shuts its door
streets empty going nowhere
day concludes the second round

this is another day
gone
we lost it
it lost us
days are the footsteps of death