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William Matthews - Sunday Alone In A Fifth Floor Apartment, Cambridge, Massachusetts
Work rating: Low

The Globe at the door, a jaunt 
to the square for the Sunday Times. 
Later the path you made has healed, 
anyone may use it. A good day 

for a fire. Fast clouds tug 
their moorings of rain, bent 
like a wet field in the wind. 
It`s almost dusk when you look out, 

the sun falling, visible 
beneath the curds of clouds. 
Open the window. It`s like leaving 
the door to the shower stall open. 

A draft and a few bars 
from the Linz Symphony wend 
in, like an exact crack in a damp wall 
of white noise, the dial tone, the breathing 

of sleepers, the dub-dub of a car`s left 
tires smattering the manhole cover 
on Ware St. The music of others 
is almost enough, but you can put on 

a record to be sure, to make you want 
to dance late in the day 
in a light that seems to come from inside 
the cloud bellies, like the rash that breaks out 

just below the skin over a woman`s breasts 
as orgasm comes on, and on, and goes.
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