boxes mark unopened lives
along the carpeted rooms and short hallway
stack three high under blinded windows
I am sent to bring an instrument for saving
labor for the worker bees, who dance
in and out of the towers shading our paths,
the margin for error so smll
even my hips bump the sides
and I have to pass through sideways
I consider moving the china
service out of my way and into someone else's
even though we have nowhere else to turn,
but I recall the secret ways
through this city like childhood:
under and over, and over again, until
we find our own fragile space
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