I would have told the secrets of my life long ago
but there were none: life is simple
like a house of four walls and only one door
through which you enter and leave.
That house braced against erosion
that house weighing its foundation
a long way from the sea;
the house that wishes to be dismantled
wishes to burn down in the night
or find blood on the floor;
wishes a man would enter and sleep
and another man, quite different, wake and depart.
Life is simple, like a house with windows drawn shut
its architecture rounded by the weather
its small treasures safe and dry.
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