Night Alone

By this hour the room has begun to glow.
Flashing with a soft vacancy
The table is set for a fiesta
A wild, spectral turbulence,
To float in from the oblivion outside.
It is at that moment, in the torment of boredom
That my mind believes them.
It chats incredibly with them,
And allows itself a bit of hollow joy
Before the guests vanish imperceptibly
Into the vacuum of my awakeness.

Boy

His eyes are gently shaded,
a modest brow set above them.
The darkened lids are marked
by a comb of eyelash.
On his cheek, a sprinkling of whiskers;
his chin, a lonely tuft.
A squirming shock of hair caresses a bashful ear
then sidles across the jaw in the wind.
Its point seems attracted to the corner of his lips,
upturned simply in a weightless smile,
or some wordless dream.