They face the hotel ceiling sky

Like restful fresh sarcophagi.

His snores are gulls that dart and skim

Along her ear’s marina rim.

I used to have the pluck and size

To crawl between their lidded eyes.

To give me life, their young selves died.

My young self stares with scared eyes wide.

Rebellion calls, the zeitgeist frets –

But I will cling to all my debts.