Do you not sometimes want to just leave
the city you’re in, to push off
in a raft you have made of your daybed—
white cotton sheets to the rising wind,
the rope of your dreams loosening
mortise and tenon joints from the four-
legged anchor that fixed your berth
all these years: one same returning
address, the one always at home to pick up
the pieces, return them to the frame
from which they’ve fallen or come loose,
she who’s asked to pay ransom after ransom
for those who left a long time ago,
not always knowing how much it costs—
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
For what it’s worth, I had not read this when I posted my erasure. We were both writing about sailing beds at the same time! What are the chances?
Wow! Perhaps our bed-vessels are part of a flotilla. :)