Sheet-monger, blanket-hoarder,
wool gatherer of nightmares,
wrapped in white linen like a corpse,
wrapped in your dreams, a straight-jacket,
I remember that night in Frisco
when we got our new bodies.
It wasn’t an operation
performed by a team of specialists;
it wasn’t a heart transplant;
nothing was sewn or grafted.
In our new bodies it was a miracle.