This is my room to you Sarah
an orange chair that
projector doing old shows
on the wall & I sleep for all
the brambles, hairpins,
pieces of cereal & fish.

This is not like pitching a tent.

The wolves, you would reply & then I started.
I covered your face.

Sarah, you broke into me like diskettes

pure slicked fur.

Here, I circle your knee caps in pencil,
Sarah?

We were once gypsies & no
I don't drag mountains anymore look
at these hands hung from my chin this
is deciduous

I see your large head on the bed,
my flannel shirt
wrapped around your hair    how long
& white your body

how curious.