Press the compress to my swollen eye
Hanna sleeps soundly on the red couch
Suzie sleeps soundly on the thick, dark gray blanket filling her round pen
Wilson sleeps soundly on the black and wood reading chair made in 1958
I find somewhere else to sit
I'm an apparition of my former self
I know what you mean about the penury
Mine has been of the spiritual variety
A refrain
It's been too much for too long
I was taught we're too good for problems like that
I was taught to spring from sheen to sheen never stopping
I was taught it is shameful to suffer
All I want to do is read and write and bike and garden and walk in the woods
I keep trying to tell people—
how lonely I am
This, too, is a form of loneliness
