Their life, collapsed like unplayed cards, <br />is carried piecemeal through the snow; <br />Headboard and footboard now, the bed <br />where she has lain desiring him <br />where overhead his sleep will build <br />its canopy to smother her once more; <br />their table, by four elbows worn <br />evening after evening while the wax runs down; <br />mirrors grey with reflecting them, <br />bureaus coffining from the cold <br />things that can shuffle in a drawer, <br />carpets rolled up around those echoes <br />which, shaken out, take wing and breed <br />new altercations, the old silences.<br /><br />Adrienne Rich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/moving-in-winter/
