The Pillow Sea
01.07.07

The bed
was an ever-cresting sea of pillows,
all mismatched waves surging surfaceward
to escape the bottom’s suffocation.

She sunk into the cotton depths
each night, to awake
on a feathersanded beach, leaving
sparsely tangled weaves of red
claimed by the tide.

I asked, once, why
she anchored her storms
to a fort of child’s fantasies.
“The better to ease
my fall from dreams”.
She sat the truth
among her pillows,
watched it submit
watched it submerge.