by Steve Scafidi
Notice how the curving waves
of her hair lay across
the pillow and the pillow holds
the shape of her sleeping
and the face betrays her sleeping.
Notice the eyelashes like hay
combed after moving—
Notice the forehead as calm
as the white of bones. See
the way the line of the nose
descends to the rested valley
and cliffs of the upper lip.
The way the sheet luffs up
when she moves a little
from the dream she makes up
as she goes and all the facts
of that kingdom blind to us.
The way a teacup rests
in the flat paw of the bear.
The silence of the forest
deepening the sad ghost
of her father flying overhead.
Even the mockingbird hunched
in a nest in the middle branch
of the pine sleeps. We find peace.
