Hush Baby Rose

Jeff Burt

Only streetlamp-light
through lace curtains,

your head fell
on my risen shoulder

and only two legs danced
as lullabies played.

I held you and waltzed,
weaving and rolling

like driving a car
late in the desert

and coasting to a stop
with headlights turned off

only the moon to guide
to a canyon of sleep.

Like flickering candles
foundering in wax

your eyes shone,
then were lost, shone,

then were lost,
opened briefly,

then closed,
drowning to dreams.