Morning

A silver pendant drawn against my neck;
its metal mouth open. Rain pellets tap
the window, like impatient fingertips.

You press emptiness in your hands,
to the closest degree of persuasion.

I turn over a collection of possibilities, trying
to create meaning from the essential difference
between shadow and light.

Last night, I dreamed a child. Then
I dreamed a lover.

He crawled through an open window, dragging himself
through volumes of poetry, warning me
that black is the absence of light, unless held

outdoors. The cold air fragments, and I name
the days of October for you.

Published in Poemata, Volume 25, Number 1, July 2010 (silver anniversary issue).