Even in the Dark

There used to be tiny sunspots on the bedroom wall That I would feign into portraits of my friends, Or would watch for when the curtains were drawn. But in the right hour the spots would come Again, in the red and gold of passing cars at night, And I stood by the bed to see Them pass over Daybreak on the wall. I can see the woman sleeping there In the shade; She’s red now—in the light— And then blue, And then gone. It continues to the east where the musicians lie in wait With their lamp oil saved for the passing red, And they pluck their strings before falling Back into the dark corners of a room.