after the painting ‘Room in New York’ by Edward Hopper
This is a work
of caught moments ,
two halves of a life
but not a fiction,
however skilfully
they evade shadows.
Stubbornly opposing
the artist’s discipline,
she strums
the piano’s keys
with one finger.
The man
stares passively
at a newspaper,
an open window
evoking memories
of earlier sunlight.
The room pretends
not to sleep,
evening not yet
specific enough.
The minute hand
of the clock
can be heard falling.
It is the loudest sound of all.