David Norris writes

These Golden Ladies of the Night  

we all have mirrors

in our bedrooms my

girlfriends and I we

are sometimes laughed

at by friends and others

stranger reflections

of ourselves in firelight

broken window shades

faint whisper in the night

out on the street the light

across the ceiling the lights

of cars pass ing by

rushing sounds whiz zing

sounds in our ears

between our pillows

the hollow of our backs

we roll into our sheets

bury ourselves beneath

layers of protectiveness

shiver sometimes I shiver

in the dark reaching for them

The Window -- Bert Scofield