Hard to find space
at the edge
of the stuffed
animal menagerie
that shields the bed
from intruders
like myself.
Eros is but a dream
held against
the ceiling
where stars
without constellations
glow when the lights
turn out.
The window
has a view
of stacked
white bee hives—
the knowledge
sweet things
come from effort.
I go away
to bring home
a warm baguette
for the butter
on a dish
on the dining table
so we may
break bread.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 