After Li-Young Lee

under the mattress    the bedframe    recycled steel    above
sleep      the mattress semi-eco     still made of foam but some of it

castor bean   instead of petroleum     above     space    and a draught
which he says is just a bad word   for fresh air   sound of the blinds

against the window    in the draught    underneath     the mattress
and the frame    all the old nightmares    those months I could only sleep

with the light on      the closet light enough    the nightstand
in the nights of those months   I could not fathom the dark   in those nights

swarmed   under the bed     in the above space      from the half open
armoire   my lost things   those that I was in that moment losing

now in the mid night some nights     he and I      we
wake up kissing     the surprise of a sudden flock of birds

also underneath the mattress     dust     the kilm from Turkey    pieces
of dreams at the border of nightmares    of both of them    and sometimes

the stray words    the cut-off edges     secret and buried    meanwhile on
the mattress    his skin    thighs and ribs    inside him his blood carries

a known error     self-poison    though we all already carry the thing
that will lead to our downfall:     the mutations and erasures

already multiplying    at the back of the dresser    the plan to travel
to Egypt     the very ovaries    as we sleep we divide     our own contaminants