h1

poem 112006

November 20, 2006

The cold collecting on my window tells me how to dress.
   So that’s how I dress.

The warm of my bed tells me not to sleep.
   So I don’t.

The turning in my stomach keeps me alert to the height of the wall.
   So I could jump if I had to.

The puzzle sitting on endless shelves before me keeps me quiet and safe.
   So I can put one down for keeps.

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