Lyrics
TO THE YOUNG WOMAN WHO TORE "INSOMNIA"
FROM ELIZABETH BISHOP'S COMPLETE BOOK OF POEMS
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Last night, I dreamed you couldn't sleep
because that same moon, trapped
fifty years ago in Bishop's bureau mirror,
was shining too brightly through your own
bedroom window. Tired from travelling
two hundred thousand miles, the pale sphere
rested in the dark stains and shadows
of your dresser's veneer--and wavered there,
like a mirage, tempting you to brush fingers
along the gray hollows marking its surface.
You reached forward, then paused,
as if knowing the moment you touched
only smooth, pressed wood, it would prove
the heavens have no place on earth.
I wonder how long you've wanted
to touch another woman. Or did you once,
and now you can't forget? I'll never know
you, outside this dream, or why you left
that thin edge of ragged paper tucked close
to the book's spine, but I imagine how you
must lie awake, thinking about the instant
you closed the book and how the pages
before and after that poem you stole
must still shudder at their unrestrained touch.
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