Last night I dreamed of old brown women for whom impotence was euphemized to "canopy madness."
Usually your tent will pitch itself,
but when the madness strikes
late at night, and the canopy
has disappeared, close your
eyes and count the stars
on the back of your lids:
one is for you, two is for
your partner, three is for
the bed or sofa or floor,
four is for the stars themselves --
you can squeeze your eyelids so hard
and replace your canopy madness
with another madness; your tent
will be as wide as the night sky.