Wednesday, April 13, 2011


I love my house
Most in the morning
Cold tiles
And a front door
Painted with sun
All of the plants
Finally dozing
Their quiet conversations
From the night before
Suspended in the air
Orbiting our heads
Collecting themselves 
At base boards
And behind bookshelfs
To be ignored
Or mistaken for dust
Scent of hair and skin
Snaking itself into
A labyrinth cave of lungs
Each eager mouth
A pore and crack
In floor and wall
The hulk of my sofa
An inanimate animal 
The heater's warmth
A second ceiling
The tick of 
An oscilating fan
Turning it's caged face
To see you waking
tripple blade whiring tongue
Translating the language of
Last night's open window
Left unattended
A report of the day's first
News story
In which a neighbor
Exits his own apartment
For work
Clock hands twist
A familiar routine
In well timed celebration
These extinguished porch lights
All watching eyes
Audience of sparrows
Cats with no homes
Gated dogs that bark
Because of nothing at all
And for every little thing
Chipped paint
Dust at a threshold
A vacant window sill
Wishing to be seen
Books that look at you,
Spiders we do not kill
Because they do the work
We refuse
I am thankful
For a much awaited morning
Exhaling all around us
For this magical box
I heartbeat inside of
And most of all
For the unruly horizon
Who stretches
Her naked body
Across a soft, bare 
Mattress of sky

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