When death beats its wings at the window I hope I am not standing alone in the kitchen with a cup and a hairbrush, watching doves on a wire. I want to curl up in that dim, disordered bed where all my loves lie, elbow to cheek; I want the brief reprieve as the angel who came for me pauses, uncertain, trying to distinguish one breath from another.
Kim Addonizio, from Wild Nights: New & Selected Poems; “Beds”


















