Awake in mortal beds
We look up
Who made the risen moon
So cold and clean up there
The piece of wall paler
Where the oval portrait was
We will live downstairs
From the lush garden unreached
By the wind’s long teeth
On the hills the ruins soon to be lit
A force already moving
The disembodied feet of leaves
Brushing the boy’s arm away
From the windowsill
Tomorrow it says and then Today
Slowing the flicker in the eyelid.
