Monday, March 31, 2008

The Unmade Bed

The pillow lies inclined,
With an impression of an overnight weight
Of my head, recovering slowly.
The soft folds of sheets
Like labyrinthine mazes,
Hold in them dreams,
I fear to let free.
I let it the way it is
To meet it again in the night
To wrap me in, and give me back the dreams
That lie there in its folds.