it's really a nightmare you are not in my dream tonight

we would have had all the time of today and the excuse
to do what we always do, nothing, in particular
taking our slow walks between the kitchen and the bedroom

and back in the room a body to anticipate in the bed
after the flush gurgles of the toilet and sink
a reappearance to push open the door

when we had wished for each other to help the boredom
little leaves flapping in the wind like kiwi wings learning to fly
never minding their stationary destinies

but to fly is a boredom in itself alone and scary now
the unthoughtful air sends only one bird where she'd wanted to go
who falls into a city waiting in the storm with sounds of an ocean confused.