A bed bleached of light, day
zippered up by blinds,
as befits the aged, a world of grey
fabric plied with lines
through which poke glib clues
to the exuberance
outside, motes of yellow, green, and blue,
yellow for the palms, green for hints
of pool, and blue for sky,
oceanic notes for those to whom
the whole view is denied,
doomed by grief or inattention
to be on the wrong side
of a room divided,
a window hewed
between sleep and sun.

November 27th–29th, 2018