“Who has set my bed elsewhere? Hard would it be for one, though never so skilled, unless a god himself should come and easily by his will set it in another place. But of men there is no mortal that lives, be he never so young and strong, who could easily pry it from its place, for a great token is wrought in the fashioned bed, and it was I that built it and none other.”

                  The Odyssey, Homer, Translation by Robert Fagels (XXIII.182-190)*

You and I built a bed-frame, for me to sleep alone.
a frame to represent what we could do,
to humble us, to put us back together.
a bed to lift me off the ground.

I collected tools, arranged parts. Convinced myself
not to touch you. You read Swedish directions.
We tried to talk over the whirring of electric
screwdrivers, over the clacking of plastic panels.

Standing in the hollow bed-frame with you.
I feel like we should sail off together. Forget
the Christmas musical, refuse telephone bills.
Later, the night falls on me, sinking into nowhere.