Sick Bed

To sleep in that bed an orchestra strains through

a passage as though wind knocked loose shutters

foretells a cavalry rode in on the body of evening

past fountains given over to dead leaves the smell

of pears crushed to sleep in that bed three days

since his last visit a sort of room Edward Hopper

painted skin alone against itself grubbed for change

on Delmar & Grand to sleep in that bed a body

no sunlight can reach greater than sketches among

a meadow having reached its vulnerable bloom—