An Ordinary Room

An ordinary room. Light. On the bed — the two of them. He's in his boxers. She's in a light-colored robe. He lies quietly. A movie. And next to them, two cats. She snuffles evenly. Seems it's for real. Above them the Moon calmly lights up and, its gaze brushing the edges of the blanket, lifts the weariness away with silver light. The family quartet, bathing in drowsy bliss, in a kefir-white bed with fruity dreams, barely noticeably moves its lips. And, not knowing it themselves, they murmur a prayer for fewer wounds in tomorrow's battle. For less suffering to be dreamed while awake, and for the kind sun to blurrily bring out all that's near, woven into threads. A faint whisper is heard: “Sleep now, my dears…”