Printer's Breath

Author | Ian Wilson

A man looks at the moon
and sees a woman bathing
in the farthest window
at the end of the block.
Perhaps not bathing,
writing or writhing, weaving
maybe waving -- his eyes are not that good.
At night dark music
leaks from his fine books,
the one with leather covers
and the smell of printer's breath
spelling out the words.
Horses have lived for years
without cake, a message
on the votive candle
he lights from his bed.
When a man looks
at the farthest window
and sees a moon shaving
the legs of a woman
it may be time to stop drinking
that 12 year old printer's breath
and pull the leather cover over the bed.
No more cake this late,
weaving here and there
atop the mattress,
a votive candle his only company
to light the horses
papered on the wall.
All night, dark books leak out,
the smell of leather covers over the bed
where a printer breathes the same breath
of the wife always waving in the pictures
on the wall, in others dancing,
a woman taken to bathing,
setting out her candles
around the tub.
It's no use going to the farthest window,
walking to the end of the block,
horses prancing on a candle,
then no other message,
still his eyes
are not that good.

About the Author | Ian Randall Wilson has published two chapbooks, Theme of the Parabola and The Wilson Poems, both from Hollyridge Press. His fiction, poetry and essays have appeared in many journals including The Gettysburg Review, The New Mexico Humanities Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, The Mid-American Review, and North American Review. He has an MFA in Fiction and in Poetry from Warren Wilson College. He is on the fiction faculty at the UCLA Extension. By day, he is an executive at Sony Pictures Entertainment.