I hum & hush 
my legs that shake
& shake
& shake & rock-a-bye
baby. Nurse my-
self with flu
medicine & tangle
in a comforter.

My pupils fixate
on the fulcrum of my pain;
the darkness
bends, captivated.
This fever obscures
my vision—
I keep mistaking
yesterday’s clothes
for a nest of blue

jays; their calls,
the rushing wind. Rain
beats down
the window,
my eyelids, dragging
cracked glass; rain
bleeds through
the ceiling. A trickle.
Rivulets. I sink

into my bedside,
put my lips
to the well, slurp
& swish it around
my mouth. Rinse
the saccharine
taste from my tongue
as I peel the remaining
layers of wrinkled
paint. I expose
the drywall, collect

the dust between
the ridges of my palms.
Compose notes-
to-self across my body

with runny ink,
grope around for a smoke.
Lay out my wardrobe
to dry. Stop
in the low-
lit kitchen, study
how shadow contracts
& expands depending
upon the angle of emerging light.