| You in the living room | 
| You on a Tuesday afternoon | 
| A breeze seen when the curtains move | 
| You by the window with both feet up on the couch | 
| Where you sit and you read and I watch you | 
| From the office the sunlight frames your silhouette | 
| I think of lighting fireworks, I think of pirouettes | 
| I idly write down observations on the scene | 
| Like do the blueprints name the rooms alone? | 
| Do we name them on our own? | 
| We hardly live in there | 
| You with a book propped on your knees | 
| A breeze seen in your coffee steam | 
| I’m in the office thinking back to rules of poetry | 
| It’s fourteen lines, the last two rhyme, what does pentameter mean? | 
| You in the living room | 
| Legs bent at forty-five degrees | 
| I write AB AB, try to find your rhyme scheme | 
| I look for objects on the desk with which to sculpt your image best | 
| What would I name this could I paint it | 
| «Woman (reading)?""Girl (at rest)?» | 
| I remember it so well watching you shifting your weight, | 
| turning the page, I can see it all there | 
| Inside a living room where only I live and never go in | 
| A role in name alone | 
| And I pause where I am for a second when I hear your name | 
| Sometimes I think I see your face in improbable places | 
| Do those moments replay for you? | 
| When I’m suddenly there and then won’t go away | 
| When you’re sitting in the living room reading for the afternoon | 
| Do you put your book down look and try to find me there? | 
| Sometimes I think of all the people who lived here before us How the spaces in the memories you make change | 
| the room from just blueprints | 
| To the place where you live | 
| When you leave here | 
| When you go from a home | 
| You take all that you own but the memories echo | 
| On hardwood floor in the living room | 
| Tore the carpet the scratches below that we found | 
| And the wine stain on the couch | 
| We got drunk and decided we’d still try to move it around | 
| And I can’t tell what the difference is between the | 
| ones that we made and the ones that we didn’t make | 
| They all conjure images still | 
| Where you sit and you read in the sunlight aware that I watch | 
| And I live alone now | 
| Save for the echoes | 
| I live alone now | 
| Save for the echoes |