Copyright © 2001 Bob Dornberg


It's a breathed-out room where steamy insulation
blocks those fingers of white, that cold fresh
dream that whets my sleep: for dream's mediation
is all that's left. Snow-below-moon stretches
lazily outside. I remember skin — memory given
to lust's long-gone siege. Now the CO2 level's
slumbrously high. I watch television's
thrust and grind with an ironic grin; more trouble
to switch than to stay. It's cold and the weather's
an ice age. Time to revise
the room's architecture: break a window, climb under
the sofa for dust or bring these grey skies
something worth watching. I'll go rearrange
that blank sheet of white with my body's snow-angel.

Sharon Kourous
Copyright © 2001

Ohio poet Sharon Kourous lives near Toledo and teaches high school English. She has been publishing poetry for many years and has credits in print and on the web. Several of her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart.

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