Shekhinah, Reclining

On this night, she reclines. This is an easy place
to be. The head of the bed is raised precisely
to the angle where her breath flows as easily
as water trickles downhill in thin rivulets.
The foot is also raised, her knees cradled, cushioned.
Life could be worse, than to pass the night while reclined.
Still, this is a hard place to be. Harsh lights erode
any sense of mystery, while puzzles remain
formulaic and vague, shrinking into shadows
at the edges of the room. Throw beauty a bone
with a framed department store poster, flowering
like bruises under her skin. Her mind wandering,
wired-down arms puddle on the mattress (gravity
dense), while x-rays steam open the chest cavity.