All Night

 All night the knot in the shoelace 
waits for its liberation, 
and the match on the table packs its head 
with anticipation of light.
 
The faucet sweats out a bead of water, 
which gathers strength for the free fall, 
while the lettuce in the refrigerator 
succumbs to its brown killer.
 
And in the novel I put down 
before I fall asleep, 
the paneled walls of a room 
are condemned to stand and wait 
for tomorrow, when I'll get to the page 
where the prisoner finds the secret door 
and steps into air and the scent of lilacs.

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