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An hour is not a house

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An hour is not a house,
a life is not a house,
you do not go through them as if
they were doors to another.

Yet an hour can have shape and proportion,
four walls, a ceiling.
An hour can be dropped like a glass.

Some want quiet as others want bread.
Some want sleep.

My eyes went
to the window, as a cat or dog left alone does.

Source: Poetry (April 2013)

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This poem originally appeared in the April 2013 issue of Poetry magazine

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An hour is not a house

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