My Wife Sleeps in Another Room

             “And everything depends upon
             How near you sleep to me.”
                    Leonard Cohen


The house is a skull.
The metaphor is unwelcome.
The sheets are cold,
like a drill, like a moon.
The simile is unfriendly.
We tire of similes
and lie down among stones.
In the morning, the coarse, grey
morning, there
is film over the window.
The view is singular.
It’s a film.
There is love over the coffee
maker. There is
stillness in the office, peace
in the den.
The den is for hibernation.
Where we live, The Hibernation.
The metaphor is a skull.
The flow is befuddled.
Over breakfast
it breaks off,
like a road, like a goddamn civilization.