My Little Bedside Ark

How do I survive your storm?

I look at the Noah’s ark globe on my desk,

You are climbing my chest like a robe ladder,

Pulling yourself up by the peeling paint.

Stars on your fingers you ply the ceiling with.

Wood-carven arms outstretched.

Wooden water smacking the gunwales.

Shaken globes, hips bobbing.

glittery snow fall melting on your thighs.

I look at the Noah who smiles Santa like, old,

Bald and animals surround him like congregants.

Fluffy, wooly, wild ensemble—-

Noiseless words from your reeling face.

Shinbones brushing water

I sank beneath you, softly drowning

Beneath the Noah’s ark globe on my desk

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