I remade the chair From a few broad rails The curtain’s billow and drape From the goose-down shiver Of winter’s long-drawn exhalation The iron bed, stalwart In curlicues and abandoned heaps That you, in your cool insistence Preferred neatly folded I was never like that –fool You admonish with the laughter of the imagined dead In that cloud-drift adumbration Still Could not remake the stillness of your face
