that we all fall down eventually,
that we hear our sun’s breathing
in our own – heavy enough to forget
our faces on the value of pavement–
we sleep on cardboard– hearts of love,
love, love, and words fall from our throats
into bedridden lovers– we sink into our
soft pillows, silks and robes and fingers,
wholly into darkness, into sleep,
and fall much further than the universe intended

(originally published in Manhattanville Review, Fall 2016)