My old bed was ridiculously large

for my life style
– for my night style –
so had to go. It went
to a couple who wanted more distance
between their dreams.
I bought instead
a mid-size wooden bed
with a carved head of golden harmonies
that would welcome opportunity

in style,
but the mattress forbade joy,
or peace except eternal:
it had to go.

Reality stepped in
when my tiny house
gave space a priority:
my new bed can hold

in its base my wedding trousseau:
cotton sheets and fine lace,
tablecloths, soft blankets.
It stands like a monument in my little room,
makes too many demands on the eye
and the heart, so it will have to go,
be replaced by a bed of sensible size
for the sensible dreams
of a sensible life

   – and if I strike lucky
   we can always go to his house.