[When the bed is empty ... ]

When the bed is empty, we pull the shades to block light, light of resemblance to remembery, long light of waiting, an impatience in the glows of it. The here of the now and the glow that days make in the room, without the body but with the stench of it. So we say,vacancy and abject,against the was, against a philosophy of once and then not. Not-being against. A child once grew here. As lines on a wall. As growing without knowing what would one day not be. A gnawing grows. Grew and was. Protection is curled. Motion- less. I envy her in her room. Hers with paint and dolls and hand- prints. Great green and glowing under blankets with a hand that nurtures the heart of the mouth, purrs into mouth, loves the heart. Heart beating within another—blushing blood— God, the beating, lit, and doing what it does.