By Anne M. Carson,
The dog’s legs twitch where she lies
on the rug, remembering, we say,
her run in the park, leaping and
loping in the forever freedom
of imagination’s paddock. In bed
your flung arm drapes my hip, hand
clenching and releasing in rapid
succession. Pulses of energy fire
into the night. Are you practicing
Rachmaninoff rills for the concert?
Even in sleep your wrist contracts
and lets go, plays my hip – your
night time makeshift keyboard. Or
are you giving the bike repeated
squirts of juice, working the throttle
as you straighten curves on a dream
ride? Conscious or not muscles
sing their kinetic songs.
This work has been gratefully supported by an Australian Government Research Training Program Scholarship.