Good Night

Since we haven't met yet
and more than likely wont things being what they are -
I felt a little note, off-the-cuff, might do the trick, or, at least, satisfy this need to write.
Between us there is next to nothing, But I have heard you cough
at three a.m. and have begun
to expect your window rattle
on its sash at any time,
and guess that when you turn you face me in bed in this Hall of Residence.
I have heard too, at midnight, you laugh and shuffie about
with some bloke whose voice mumbles against the stereo. (Your taste in music is not mine). And now, having spent the night reading the work of friends,
I wanted to jot this down
because in some way you have
entered myself as much as the room -
a silent partner sleeping out
the police car's shocking claxon, and the equatorial heating pumps in the background a steady beat, and somebody's alarm goes off prematurely although we all
still sleep, or are meant to.
The magnolia and cherry trees flower in the gardens below.
In the labs. experiments are timed
to perfection, but the ~nv.isible dust descends on books, pamtmgs, . maps, busts, the executive aquanum, even the washed dishes on the rack, and on our faces upturned in the dark.
Page 53, Poetry Ireland Review Issue 26