Oh Tasha, I have put your little bed away.

It’s been a month and I am learning
bit by bit to be alone.  So I had lunch
and marked the movement of the sun
and clouds.  I took a breath and almost
didn’t watch myself reach down
and gather the last of your life here
in a bag.  It must be washed and folded
like a shroud and put away.

Forgive me.  I don’t know where
you’re going to sleep.  Some say
you rest in a bolt of light
breaking through the beads
of dew and nap by a fountain
where the angels drink.  But when
you come to visit, take my bed.

You will have no trouble getting
up there now.  The pillow nearest
the window is for you, so you
can listen to the night again. 
Or maybe you’re already here,
dozing in the glow of the green
lamp, curled up in the little seashell
on the desk, or breathing like a
puppy in the ticking of the clock.  

Kyle Kimberlin

First Draft 9/10/2005

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