Wherever I looked something opened.
In the tree, a hole where the squirrel, all fall, brought its nuts.
Amid the sidewalk, the little blades of grass,
still strong after the first snow.
I built a house. Or did not build it, but took out a loan:
the four walls met
by the leaking roof, that, first thing, needed to be replaced.
When I imagined myself inside, there was the body laid down,
nestled by the bodies of the ones I love.
How had I arrived? This measurable space, the stairs
so narrow that the bed frame needed to be sawed in half?
Or, in the dark, the inhalation the exhalation of what, escaping?
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