By Madison 
Date: 13 November 1999

Courtyard at Six

I recognized
from paintings of the mind 
his slender ponytail
and legs 
that topped wide stairs
of alternating brick and slate.

Layers of leathery fern
framed the unknown silhouette 
through panes of pitted glass
antebellum window lenses keeping 
secrets from a hundred years
and countless wintry nights.

Coolly I spied
elbows propped against a tabletop of tile,
as I sat between 
new chins
and mouths 
and voices serving words like aperitifs 
in a warm dark room of teal and wood.

The fire was lit.
Saxophones sedated open space 
as he walked in
and claimed the empty armchair 
shouldered next to mine.

A dream was hung up in the air,
caught in the verge of unraveling
where limbo dressed in white
meets earth 
and the boyish face of a greying man
looks straight into your eyes
and says 
We need to talk.




M Madison
10 nov 99
copyright © 1999