It's Still Life

The Duck Down Blues

Farewell, my pillow,
whose duck down seeps
into fringe-edged seams.
Feathers, a gander up my nose,
and scribes itself into poetry
that reaps and sows
my kind weathered dreams.
This old pillow,
filled with worlds of dust,
dead skin and mites,
and slobber spit.
Sunrise parts us — farewell
fair remnants of myself.

for Miz Quickly’s Day 19: A Aubade poem.