An Old Woman Sings in Her Bed but Makes No Sound by Keith Harrison

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The summer night is dangerous and deep.
I lie, dead still, aware of the tiniest sounds
Being so full of joy I cannot sleep.

The night is dangerous, so many lives.
I love my husband well. A sharp moon
Rubs the spine of the barn. Nothing moves.

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You are a kindly man who’s fast decaying.
Why am I so content tonight to watch my hands
Now that the rooster wakes while I’m betraying

All that we built, and everything winds down.
I study my hands, dissolving into nothing:
The wind-washed cocklebur in which we’ll drown.

Why am I so content? Will we rise again
As dragonflies, perhaps, or gleaming birds?
Who knows? Only one thing is plain.

Now that the rooster crows – not once, but three
Times three times thirty-three I am betraying
All that we built, betraying shamelessly

Because of a plume of pick-up dust that carries
Him here, no god but a pillar of solid flame
Smelling of roadside tar and a crush of berries

To stretch me out and crack and almost crack,
Again and again, and maybe again today
With a plume of dust winding along the track.

I love my husband well, nothing will change.
So many lives to live: I have no shame.
I love you well, and everything is strange.

The summer night is dangerous and deep
But, being completely taken by that flame,
I am so full of joy I cannot sleep.