revised version:
At night, someone rearranges the rooms
in my body, pushes ottomans into
corners and hides the water lily print.
Now, I’m all reckless stairwells
and falling sounds. Entire bedroom sets
gone missing at sunrise. You’re fondest
of the shifting windows, the ivory boned
sofa shaped like a woman’s back;
have placed buttons beneath carpets
and hidden pens in all the closets.
The parlors fill with pink paper
dresses and impossible chairs.
The kitchens, understandably, hide their knives.
