Someone comes down the stairs:
It’s Tolstoy in his horse hair pajamas.
Clouds knock at the windows
But of course the sleeping humans don’t hear this.
Dawn. Chickens. Piano loosening out of tune.
Leo owns only one book in English—
Women and Temperance.
While reading he spills a drop of tea
Which burns and glints on the page.
I know all this. I was far above
In the loft, dreaming of the place
Where in the future
I’d live my strict joy.