Things I Love About My Bed
The bole of the headpost has faces
set in the vein of the wood, dryads
set to guard my dreams from harm.
Slats keep my flesh from reaching
into the cavern beneath, and the teeth
of the moths feasting on my carpet.
Atop the mattress slumbers my pallet,
its airfoams alert to the shapes
my bones throw through the night.
I could surround my head with pillows,
helmet my sweating skull with feathers
in cotton, but one is enough for my neck.
Sheets knot my limbs to the frame,
encot me as I sail the breath of the world
seeking unseen the truths in my dream.