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Facing My Pillow
By Allan Peterson

I was blind to the well-lighted ordinary after all
I had been facing my pillow
and so was open to the dark beneath it
the heart the breathing meadow
open to sex and blackbirds the other subtle drums
open to the cloakroom
on my back putting galoshes on the wrong feet
shoes in rubber with their locks
the sky passing by me my horse tapping answers
Tommy near death floating
within his eyes death deciding one lung to the other
when the earth would pass under
for the last time sightless black and westbound