Drooping eye bags remind me of hammocks:
Purple sacks of cloth, hanging from two rough trunks
In the shade of an oak, or perhaps a fir;
A breeze blows—the hammock sways, calm,
Feeling the air rustle around it, within it;
If only I could climb into one of those hammocks
And close my puffy eyes, rest them in the cool
Afternoon shade—but alas, the hammocks are
But daydreams, and these long, drooping eye bags
Are real.
