Halls of Snow and Sleep

James Joyce wrote, “Shut your eyes and see.”

I wake from sleep,
from being in that room with you.

What I remember:
my deep sigh of relief.

Outside the modern concert hall
banked by walls of windows,
the snow shuddered, susurrous,
melting against warm windows.

Snow builds. Snow falls. Snow fell,
while we sat close to one another
in the near-empty museum.

We listened to a symphony based
on meter and rhythm in Ulysses
by James Joyce.

We did not listen to our hearts.

When I think of you now,
we are always in that room:
warm, while snow falls.

Warm, while we don’t kiss.
Our lips don’t touch.

We are always never kissing
in that room.

Music playing over silence,
light playing on the shadows
within our hearts:

I am always waiting there for you.
We are always never kissing
in that room.