successful failures

Read at your own risk: I do think this poem is a successful failure in that I think the form didn't work (perhaps because of the repeated phrase) but the subject, and some of the language, is extractable for another poem sometime.

Bed Rest Ghazal

I see all the gray skies from here in bed.
Clouds are no more than eyes and fear in bed.

When belly moves on its own wise accord,
nothing stops the lightness of cares in bed.

A small consolation, hiccups from inside
a uterus tied together in bed,

tied to keep a baby safe. To keep
a baby unborn and quiet. In bed,

I am told I am a soldier made
for fighting by staying in bed.

I am told this is the only way.
I try to ignore the voices in bed.

A bed is prickly pears covered in down
or an ice sheet cracking to water the bed,

an island with trees of pillows
where sleep is like grains of sandy beach in bed.

Birds eat the grass seed in the backyard, and
lilacs match the beauty of an ear in bed.

I quiet everything with my fingertips
and pray we both survive the bed.

In bed, all senses are by extension.
In bed, we breathe and breathe. In bed.