Contact by Henry Noyes


I’m so used to the lampshade
I don’t always notice the light
anymore, you know – you’re

BRILLIANT, but even that
word is dull from the flicker
of your opinion, a light that’s
never decided whether it’s on
or in need
of fixing

(our eyes never contact,

I couldn’t hold you when you slept (not that
the fuse was gone (or the switches were live
(but I couldn’t tell if I was
holding the right wire)))

are we even ever entangled

can we call the electrician
will you be acting up enough when he comes
will you be playing it down
will you be unhappy enough
to actually hit one of your switches)


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