Infirmary

One feels the window. The other, wind.
Each visit begins with something missing.

The wire animals have not been put
to sleep. Their museum bodies

astonished as the living.

For survival one must starve a little.
The other stores up little maladies.

Outside a city is burning
to let them devise

light without image.

I know the blind dream better.
The electrocuted tend vineyards of their skin.