Poem on a Misremembered Line of Frank O'Hara

At the bottom of my heart is some kind of bugle

or cymbal with surprisingly dark resonance

the cymbal brews me a cup of an herbal concoction

now I am in the room where the tea is being brewed

its aromas mingling with the textures of upholstery

instead of this echo chamber being in my heart, I am in it

the room is in a world, the real world in fact

I could go outside, greet the textures of the day

I am in this room now, my heart inside me

and at the bottom of my heart some kind of bugle again

this is what I think of stepping into the shower

remembering O'Hara's bugle but forgetting why he put it there