fitted sheet.
I live in a recliner. I sleep here.
Between the leather finish
And my clothes is a maroon-colored
fitted sheet.
The idea is that I be comfortable,
Not sitting up. But bedded singly
Here where I live.
Comfortably healing.
When I sleep, the meadows turn
Inaccurate enough to seem
Beatitudes. My memory is offered
A reprieve from sadness.
I hear the air machine
Remove the separation between
Tenor and bass. I hear
Neutrality become a perfect window.
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