Before She Sleeps

Eleven o'clock. She washes the dishes.
She tidies the place. Not a sound. She sits on the bed
and takes off her shoes, then stops.

Somehow, the day won't end. What's left to be done?
The house isn't right. The bed and the table aren't right.

She holds her stocking up to the light to find the tear
she felt earlier. Nothing. So is the tear in the wall
or perhaps in the mirror? Yes: it lets in the voice of the night.

The stocking throws a shadow: a net cast in cold water.
A yellow fish swims through it. Blind yellow fish.