How morning can be transalpine
How the vestiges of summer are falling
How the window can be empty and still
How the curtain isn’t moving
How the bed curtails movement
How fear can be found
How finding is fearful
How a teaspoon of salt falls
How fall is around the corner
How morning rounds out the room
How the room transforms the sleeper
How the transvestite can still be sleeping
How this poem turns the corner into fall
Now drives on through the morning window.
