When I moved here you were much darker,
so I put in windows and the aerial bookshelf
that runs around above head height. Now
I sleep with a weight of books above me.
I want to cover them, like birds, to keep them quiet.

I’ve slept three thousand nights in your arms.
You have absorbed my snoring and my dreams.
Your walls have seen dogs, spiders, frogs, snakes too,
and once a porcupine ambled through.

The trees are coming into leaf today.
I tell you this slowly because you’ve never been outside.