When Bed Becomes Your World

When Bed Becomes Your World

When the bed becomes a universe,
your world revolves around it like water,
which measures up the edges of the pond,
like a tortoise in its shell,
like a seed in a hard nut. Until you
stand up, the shield encases you.

When the bed becomes your universe,
your asleep and awake rhyme,
your dream ends on it,
your plan turns to a play, and you
spend time numbering stars.

When the bed becomes your universe,
all visits:
the sun and moon throw greetings,
birds from nearby branches knock at the
window to advertise the weather, and
bits and pieces you love to order.

When the bed becomes your universe,
dream hands over to slumber to drive,
to drive ambitions that resurface in
nightmares:
the planes, the yachts the heart craves,
but the hands cuddle in coverlets like
an infant.

That’s your universe.
A small space like a womb, where you
sojourn like a foetus; the cosmos where
your life orders lying in one spot.

You’re the ruler of your own universe,
a world where dreams sleep in bed with
the visionary.