you came back to my house once
and unpacked all of our belongings,
just for the day. my house used to
hold limestone, crimson, satin, the
more that comes out of more. so
many objects desired by ourselves.
packed into tiny packs of our home.
we shared it all without names. we
woke up late, we were surrounded,
we drank out of mugs that wrapped
into our hands easily, we were in the
middle of our house, we were between
winter and spring, we chewed, gnawed
at life. it is one of those homes you can
feel the space held by what it iself holds;
when the walls have unrolled off the
pillars, the sofas removed of their sitting
places and their sitters, i can feel you
in the air of the home we had. i feel the
place in
all of this space.
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