i fear
i will kick the iron radiator behind me,
push over the music stand in front,
on one side the wall, a bed frame across.
the rug burns my feet, but the wood floor will freeze them
i'm too old for this
but i'll keep trying like a baby learning to crawl,
a little every day, a few minutes to go with
flute or a poem.
ah, the dishes call to me and then nighttime
will cradle me in her arms and sleep will
come quickly.
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