Circling

I lay in the bed

folding my hips

where they hurt

into the mattress

rising out of my dream

in which we’re circling 

the narrow path, the burnished roots

of the cemetery duck pond

ever apart

gazing across the waters

to see the distant shape 

across the rippled pool 

moving in our rotation 

like planets in their orbit

we do not speak to one another 

we only look 

what an imagination I have

when I am sleeping 

what an imagination

I have.