On sunny days
the sheets are splayed
The dust takes flight
and delights
in the sight
of sun
I make a run
for it, for fun
Fast while it lasts
and the odor of dolor
disappears
behind my ears
But
The sun always dies
waves goodbyes
in orange or red or pink
and I sink
with it
back into the deep
that bed of black
With a sack
or I in it
I lie,
awry
misplaced
replaced
by a layer of dust
and rust
and lust.
