The bed is depressed
where had been your body—  

the body, the lost mind
of the bed. How well you once  

extended a thought like
a leg all the way through the toes.  

Argue again for the persimmon
you’d take over permission  

and which I too would take
over another fruitless year  

buried beneath the old anxieties.
A father returns like a symptom  

and you feel sick but other
things also. What you want  

to go away, it’s possible
you’ll want to come back.