Turning her head she finds his sleeping face <br />a few inches from hers. A moment to hold <br />in her mind’s gallery. Immobile, peaceful, <br />open to her calm inspection, <br />smooth cheekbones gold-pink, <br />eyes sunk, looking inward, heavy eyelids <br />falling across them like blinds from the broad forehead. <br />Nose somehow more delicate <br />than when he is awake. Lips firmly closed <br />over the voluble mouth. John Lennon, she thinks, <br />as she stores his mouth away. She keeps still, <br />despite her filling bladder and her stiffening back. <br />His hand still rests on her stomach, his foot on hers. <br />If she moves, the blinds will flick up, <br />the quiet breath will quicken, <br />his face will be remoulded by the lively muscles. <br />Where is he now? <br />Inside this calm mask, perhaps he’s running <br />in the pathways of neurons that link this moment <br />with the past. And who is she to call him back?<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-d-nall-portrait-of-a-poet-sleeping/
