Yeats Asks

Yeats waits
in eager anticipation
for an exalting
slow of breath.

Her chest heaves
in perfect time
to the ticking
of an impatient clock.

He strums his
fingers rapidly,
but softly,
lips pursed,
he asks,

"Why do men live
on earth
and not in heaven
from the beginning?"

She stirs,
languidly draping
words over the arc
of a thought.

His mind whirs:
the mechanics
of his motion lost,
but nearly caught.