A Married Man
The married man dreamt last night
of a house that someone’d left him:
the sort of house you have in dreams,
a thousand rooms, one corridor. He wandered
round alone, he told me, smiled
his quiet, inward smile. And found
a secret garden, high walled, locked, odd
velvet green. There, a window looked
towards the ocean. He flexed his pale hands,
I had, he said, the key. His wife touched
their girl asleep, a lush and heavy animal,
and watched him, knowing, satisfied.
źródło: Read A Little Poetry
10.09.2026