Quiet, Sirens

some of the best things
are predictable and lovely.
i might fall asleep right here,
next to the old desk lamp

but your lap looks nice,
i want to say
in French

we have nothing but pages
and pages of dark
turning with the traffic
around the corner.

and what else out there is so guaranteed?
a warm cassette deck in an old pickup truck,
white painted porch on a Delta house—

that postcard of yours, lets just go there!
i’ll be the reincarnated Civil War general,
and you, you can dress like Onassis.

there are only so many chances left
for the taking

don’t you sense its slow closing,
that great sliding door
to the curious warmth?