The apartment holds its nouns together well,
so well we we are starting to see sentences in them.
A book on the sofa, a blanket
draped across a chair, a window's stain,
a feather hanging from the cat's lip--
tight bundles of coincidence.
Even writing them this way, they cast
narrative tendrils that don't easily break,
like a patch of gum pulling shoe to pavement.
Shoe. Sandal. Rug. Boot. Shoelace.
Carpet thread. Curved grey hair.
The apartment has a part in this meaning-making,
drawing nouns as bread draws geese
and growing verbs like mold.
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