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Poem

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Shakespeare’s Bed Again
(A poem about the reading of his will in which all he bequeathed his wife was his bed).


At the reading
of the will
without expectation
she waited,
and she wasn’t disappointed.
His second finest bed.
For you
no stars
no bloom
no wonder.
I go to sit now
with gods and ghosts
to take my slice
of things immortal.
I shall not burden thee
with love or thorn
as you walk steps steep
with broken words
and heart’s debris
or all those unbuilt promises
to spread wings
without measure,
and not for you
eternity
without a place
to rest that head heavy
of unmade dreams.

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