Behind the shutters the window was open
I was not opening the shutters
but I could feel the light behind them
and inside my thinking about opening,
the same dream of containing
everything I love
continued. The light wanted
nothing and wanting was what
I gave, not always according
to the walls and spaces between.
I was not opening
but light was getting in and I was
not you on the couch, sleeping.
And the back of the couch met
breezeway. Behind the shutters the window
was open so wind
in the tree became the room’s,
and left no trace of itself inside
but the scent of leaves and the leaves
blew through me, told me I could
be blown through.
Small Window Above the Bath
Why should my hands keep anything? My fingers—
want to feel the waterway filled with how many
And the warped coolness from somewhere,
always something to do with sleep.
When I am cruel to you, I try to
close. In the bath, there is no bad pattern.
No behavior but the water’s warm opening. I adhere
to nothing but the shape I want to make.
Elaine Bleakney is a graduate
of Kenyon College and UC Irvine’s MFA program. Her work has previously appeared
in Crab Orchard Review.