Bedroom

A frame made
of branches,

a canopy held together
with vines,

vines covered with grapes.
Every night birds come

in drowsy waves
and carry the grapes

off to the four corners.
We have our own moon,

stars that can keep
a secret, no roof

and a breeze
that carries a hymn.

Where did these things
come from?

That first night,
afterwards,

I dreamed of a catalogue.
It had a thousand pages

and your name on it.

–February 3, 2016