Refrain

Warm from the bed,
from the goose down,
I wake this morning
from the depths of not refusing
a long evening’s sleep
accompanied by Whitman:
The curious sympathy one feels
when feeling with the hand
the naked meat of the body,

Whitman’s body a refrain woven
through the red thread of me; a hard
freeze last night, and the light has changed
to the winter light.