A Great Sadness

A pigeon wakes me
on the ledge.
I crawl over to it
and he is startled.
We look each other in the eyes.
His grey, grey eyes,
blue feathers flashing.
I step off the bed.

The apartment smells like we first moved in,
like warm weather, like the sick sweetness
of vanilla air fresheners
had sunk into the wood
and needed the doors to expand.

I want to wash the wax feeling
from my feet, the black flower spreading,
a lucky penny taped in the dark,
in the closet,
a cork jammed onto a nail.

I turn the fan on
and sketches of nude strangers
scrape along the walls.
I get back in bed.
That afternoon I sweat in my sleep,
I dream of drinking the wine from your body.