The Offing

Not even I would know the truth,
but if illusions offer comfort it is this:
I do not need it. Intimations of the thaw
abound - the shards and misreflections

of another age that fade into cuneiform
cracks on the bathroom door. The blue
couch with its rings beneath the cushions -
from the rain. You know you are entitled

to this wounded sense of drowsiness,
and I? I am a fool, a disbeliever.