I'm afraid he's resting at the moment Poem by Jan Glas

‘I'm afraid he's resting at the moment,'
a woman on the telephone.

Gentle murmuring on the line of a straight sea.
‘Can I get him to call you back presently?'

The voice at the other end
from the space where a man has somewhere lain down.
‘Who can I say phoned?'

I want to ask her where he is lying.
On a bed?
If he's lying on his side.
Or on his back.
On the couch.
How he's holding his arms.

The shoes, placed next to each other, are waiting.
His glasses on the small table, are waiting.
The room, bolt upright. Waiting.
The light even.
The day, the words
everything's waiting for the man
who has just lain down.
I say my name.

The woman's waiting.
The sea's waiting.