Blue bed – soft sheets
And pillows in torn pillowcases
Pillows hard as matted pleats of hair
Quietly lying, thinking fine
Thoughts like twined-gold jewellery
Loot of colonial vessels.
Maybe – a staff made of whale rib, whale song
Or masks in the darkness
Of a glass room, speaking
Languages I can’t speak with.
I can speak the blue bed here
Heavy sheets and my drowsy shirt
All human elements heated
Til they propogate crisp museum light.