the double-deck still remains
when all else had gone
the way white ants banqish
all memories of wood
underneath the bed
where you used to sleep
I made love to you
through a woman
who could bear our child --
my wife whose sound
and bodily curves
did not match yours
but could only be changed
by closed eyes
and on the upper bed
I wished you were
doing the same thing
your closed eyes
bringing me close to you
this boy, my son, our son
looks just like you
