Don’t Worry—I Won’t Get Too Close

Meanwhile there’s this dream
I have of you—

a card game, a maze
of corridors, fingers hidden
behind torsos, a borrowed

kiss, another kind
of numbers played here—
and the song? I wake too soon.

Night Poem

Upside down hurricane
lamps hang
from a ceiling’s exposed

bones in a place
called SPACE. Drapes
for walls, everyone can see

what the cooks are doing
with the night.
There’s nowhere

in this space
to hide. And yet
the singer won’t appear

till it’s time.