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Going Back to Bed

BY J. D. MCCLATCHY

Up early, trying to muffle


the sounds of small tasks,
grinding, pouring, riffling
through yesterdays attacks
or market slump, then changing
my mindwhat matter the rush
to the waiting room or the ring
of some later dubious excuse?
having decided to return to bed
and finding you curled in the sheet,
a dream fluttering your eyelids,
still unfallen, still asleep,
I thought of the old pilgrim
when, among the fixed stars
in paradise, he sees Adam
suddenly, the first man, there
in a flame that hides his body,
and when it moves to speak,
what is inside seems not free,
not happy, but huge and weak,
like an animal in a sack.
Who had captured him?
What did he want to say?
I lay down beside you again,
not knowing if Id stay,
not knowing where Id been.

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