from Origins of Desire
–D Nurkse

4. The Unlit Room
The mind is a story
that found a way
to tell itself—but who
is the confidante, who
the eavesdropper,
who gropes for a switch
along this invisible wall?

In our narrow bed
we hear the catch
of the other’s breath,
faint Muzak, an ice machine,
a late goose honking
toward the idea of south.

Between five and six
we whisper our presentiment—
great herds going blind
in Patagonia, a moth species
extinguished at every breath.

We exaggerate a little.
Those extra zeroes
hold our reprieve.

Perhaps it is too late:
we can still make love
and catnap toward dawn.

But even if we close our eyes
we are still married.

Photo by Christian Lambert on Unsplash