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Pickle Me This

September 18, 2005

For One Year

We hollowed out a home
in that tough and tiny core
one room and we fixed it
with a window a door
a ladder we climbed to our bed
and in the rafters there
we slept like bats alive
and hanging for one year.

After there were seven boxes
that we sent home by sea
a hoard that we acquired
almost accidentally
unnoticed stuff that lived with us
filling space we didn’t use
they slipped inside so quietly
with the dust upon our shoes.

That cosy world we curled within
we came to need no more
it felt unnecessary
to have more walls than four
elbow rooms and breathing rooms
overblown and obsolete
just that little room for me and you
to dine live love and sleep.

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