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The Bed

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Under the sheets like this how quiet the world is.
Black, concave walls of cotton skim and caress,
and the fabric is cool, the pillow is cool as a breeze.
Soothing, rather than being uncomfortable,
the sheets of my bed doesn’t expose anything,
the door to my vulnerability locked tight as possible.
I can feel myself melt into it; if one were the Sandman
one could probably see me crumble to sand.
The sleepy ball of light on the other side of the world
has already saluted me goodbye.
The crickets have chorused, scratch scratching
their legs, bringing up a reverberating melody.
All of nature’s activity continues,
lively, but comforting.





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