When I came in from running in the rain and wind,
the house knew exactly where I’d been.
Why didn’t you take me? it said.
I looked around the room — the books, the desk,
the paintings, the photographs, the antique odds and ends.
You’re right, I said. It’s like a desert in here. Death Valley.
And the walls closed in, with all their strange perfume.
They held me close, and pressed me to their lips.
I tried to catch my breath. Ran out again.
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Categories: Sweet Sleep and Bare Feet