Sometimes before I go to sleep, I

walk out on the porch and imagine

I can look through the trees,

across the river to where you live.

I imagine you with her,

sitting in your living room, perhaps,

sitting opposite her,

in two chairs, reading the

paper, listening to the

quiet of the deepening night.

I think how she must smell,

must taste.

I think of her hair resting

on the pillow next to your

face while you sleep.

I think of her nightgown

and her white shoulders

and the days when I thought I

could win you away from her.

by Cher Bibler