SINCE

Since I do not rise
until my motionless hour
moves me to my chair
heaven and earth is wise
to my behavior
not abandoned elsewhere
from my sleep eye dream
of exile from Toledo
picturing El Greco's "Savior"
he seems to share
my wine and bread
on my knees
when any form of despondency
or despair brings me back
from my printed galleys,
to look out from my window
at moving bocce, hockey
and soccer players
sharing the field
by the Charles river's breeze
along the dawn's sky voices
shielding over the sea's edge
by trembling branches
over the Longfellow bridge
hearing familiar birdsong
at this very moment
with shadows of visitors
on the balcony fearing the rain
as mourning doves appear
outside my studio at eleven
when listening to Verdi's
recording of the opera Nabucco
my mind is racing
by a lending library of Esperanto
waiting on my desire
in memory of the pastimes
of my reading Proust
outside the Paris Tuileries
for there is life's love in art
where time flees
what it disposes in youth
will never depart
since there is forgiving
for the living and the dead
we exist ala carte.