Wisps of dream blur the outlines of the bed,
The bed floats like a stage in a room filled with your breath.
In this scene there is no apron, no embrace,
Just the awkward triumph of your presence,
Proof of your brief stay on earth:
Shafts of light streaming with dust.
Oh vanished one, there is no ease in mourning,
No moment of reprieve for the curtains that keep billowing
Without you, the hammock that keeps swaying
In your absence, this room
Where there is no desk, no clock, no floor:
my heart opening and shutting without rest.