April 8th

Crawl across toward your window

I'm calling softly from the street

Always a lonely widow

half-awake and sleeping on my feet

I'm of age but have no children

No quarter phone booth calls to home

Just late night television

inside my bedroom all alone

There is no use in waiting

offer up your steps so I can climb

Show me all your figure paintings

etched in the middle of the night

Let me stretch upon your carpet

let me hear the rain tap on your street

knowing I am safe on the inside

blankets wrapped and drifting off to sleep