She has removed herself as one who reads
removes under a lamp’s glow.
Night of her hair, her highlighted cheek
as she leans into the story, her feet drawn up.
Yes, I am watching and listening.
The quiet that is never truly quiet,
close lives and streets,
a helicopter’s tracking blades
The room could be her room
in New York as here in London.
The interior is our discovery
and with discovery comes the desire
to hold it all in place.
This ease of being with her, that is all
and all and all.
This poem is part of the Tuesday Poem Scheme