[The Tower of Babel Pierces the Sun, Hundertwasser, 1959]
The curtains are closed and red and drape darkly the perimeter
of the bed.
The red air is thick
like a womb.
The bed cuts into planks with walls.
The tenants crawl
then roll between them.
Breathing wills to labored evenness.
Lungs tighten, necks slowly cramp, knees ache.
Breath comes out in short thin rectangles,
doesn’t go far, but falls
back onto proud stone faces.