after dinner
grandmother walks in the rain
on too-straight paths

mystery, beauty
intrude on well-fit habits–
my doorknob

out of the forest
Golo rode for Geneviève–
shone on the wall

recalling
Balbec, Paris, and the rest–
lying awake

little room
high ceiling getting lower–
clock ticks

a winter nest–
snapshots of a horse
break into trot

Siena marble
in my Combray bedroom–
sunset’s reflection

divergent dozing
losing sense of space and time–
rope down from heaven

immobile,
the world is as I make it–
I face a wall

comfortable pillow–
dreaming of false morning,
nearly midnight