I carry from sleep this very room defined by a clipped table light, an indistinct moth ,a chair plastic in its back and sitting whitely.
I like to be defined by tree back to a sun and sitting wisely on drops of words in light. The chair likes to be defined by a warm bum and an aching back of history, from shadows of night after night sleeping, stomach silent from poems emerging to fingers on letters.
Table light is defined by the room of shadow but would like to be defined by a pair of eyes and the soft touch of a body where it curves on the wall ,with a moth walking in shadow.
The moth carries its room with it on the wall ,a room of light to embrace a result of death.The chair carries a room with it of warm bum bristling with the possibility of growing cold in it.