Laughing over Books

She’s up there in the bedroom, reading in bed.
She likes the horizontal; she’s enclosed.
He’s down here by the fireside in his usual chair.
He shuns the horizontal; needs an upright back.
Adjacent, both are far away in books
as evening tends to night, the day becomes the morrow.
Rarely, in the silence, upward or downward,
the one sends laughter softly to the other,
and each is grateful for the unintended gift,
the overflow of pleasure from the reader’s mind.

Listen to this poem — read by Peter Hetherington