Bed

Alice tip toes around the edges of the bed
Her face is white
She sings a tiny grief song
Let's pretend she says
The wind whistles through the windows
We touch hands
All gathered in
In peace and remembrance
It is daytime again
The police shoot by
We are beside ourselves
Alive and flying
A cool chill stings our flesh
We wrap blankets in the trunk
Just like our parents
A silver census of dreams
We ditch the water
Confounded
In the jungle of life
We record our voices
Sing shanties
Pretend we are natives
Alice tip toes around the edges of the bed
I hear her
It is a comfort in the day.