Poetry

Your walking away is measured in watt.
Not the 1100 p.m.p.o. of a door slamming shut behind you
that are opened and slammed again
but it is the pattering gait that just can be heard
and the whisper of satin
when you do go to our bedroom
and welcoming the door stays open
when continuously the fourteen-day rain does softly fall
and flames hiss at the fireplace and wood gleam red from the heat
while Steve Hofmeyer on the Kenwood music system
does sing sadly like Neil Diamond
and candles burn romantically at the bath
like a Jewish candlestick that welcomes the Sabbath
and does announce the beginning of the year of jubilee
where everything is again nice and right
to far into the future
and no children or grandchildren
do bring resistance in their visiting multitude
and you and I are alone
like Adam and Eve
when they did noticed each other for the first time.