Sleeping

There’s a storm, an imaginary farmer 

Saying there’s rain tomorrow “Look at the moon,”

He says, and walks away Montana.

See,

Together is all over the face 

Because there’s two of them.

See my ears too listen to your hands sleeping with shivers gently

Rubbing your warring fingers like

I know everything

That will happen between them.

Get it right, this is no war.

The weather report is outside;

Happening is what’s here

And has nothing to contend with. 

If we might sleep all night

And never move our hands

For correspondence we’ll talk with words,

Or scribble in the margins of old notebook paper

That I will later jam

Into my typewriter

And send to you long distances

Over a pillow.