Bianca

It's midnight
It's half past midnight and Bianca sleeps
What does she dream of,
What will she dream of wrapped
In her brown skirt?
Who knows the dreams
She carries stored in her comforter?
Bianca sleeps cradled by the sounds
I draw from the guitar

How many nights does Bianca not sleep
In this circle sitting on the floor?
Lie down my girl, dream and resign yourself
To the invisible noises
And the sounds coming from the crowd