Though the bed died during the night

this sheet is reaching for flowers

still warm from the last time they saw daylight

as one more hole in the Earth

–it’s for them you heat the room

with wood each morning heavier

breathing in the way you fill your arms

with sores no longer holding on

–this bed was left to die in the open

as the space between two pillows

that grieves with the ancient scent

cooling your lips among the ashes.