Ollie

In a room that speaks, listening to the rain, she pulls away from sleep, this is not my tune, she says, the piano is too crude, notes are stuck in between, a she moon hesitates, it knows where she's been, Paris and sunlit avenues, memories of Spain, free of all interludes, wrapped in a cotton sheet, she selects black lace, covers long legs and knees, outside sits a Magnolia tree, her bed's like a cradle, she ignores how it creaks, sometimes in the season, she regards a life shaken, sits still hears the sea, love marks her day.