Stupid Poetry

I half see you, half know you.
Take care if you turn now to face me.
For even in this room we are moving out through
stars
And forms that never let us back, your hand
lying lightly on my thigh and my hand on your
shoulder
Are transfixed only there, nor here.

What can you bear that would last
like a rock through cancer and white hair?

Yet it is not easy
to take stocks of miseries
when the soft light flickers
along our arms in the stillness
where decisions are made.
You have to look at me,
and then it's time that falls
talking slowly to sleep.