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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=458388" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Staying At Ed's Place</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=458388" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I like being in your apartment, and not disturbing anything.<br>As in the woods I wouldn't want to move a tree,<br>or change the play of sun and shadow on the ground.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=458388" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The yellow kitchen stool belongs right there<br>against white plaster. I haven't used your purple towel<br>because I like the accidental cleft of shade you left in it.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=458388" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">At your small six-sided table, covered with mysterious<br>dents in the wood like a dartboard, I drink my coffee<br>from your brown mug. I look into the clearing</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=458388" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">of your high front room, where sunlight slopes through bare<br>window squares. Your Afghanistan hammock,<br>a man-sized cocoon<br>slung from wall to wall, your narrow desk and typewriter</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=458388" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">are the only furniture. Each morning your light from the east<br>douses me where, with folded legs, I sit in your meadow,<br>a casual spread of brilliant carpets. Like a cat or dog</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=458388" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I take a roll, then, stretched out flat<br>in the center of color and pattern, I listen<br>to the remote growl of trucks over cobbles on<br>Bethune Street below.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=458388" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When I open my eyes I discover the peaceful blank<br>of the ceiling. Its old paint-layered surface is moonwhite<br>and trackless, like the Sea—of Tranquillity.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=May+Swenson">May Swenson</a></strong></div>

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