The face of fear
is a grimace of exertion:
She lifts one end of the couch
alone,
drags it to the opposite wall,
[Bend your knees]
her shoulders burning now
because of
the desk,
the recliner,
the credenza --
[Why don’t you just wait?]
burning seems to cauterize
the hole,
the black paralysis --
or
maybe in the corner,
and the shelf can go behind?
Transform the room,
all things made new,
all things,
all things,
all things.
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