Last night I found myself
still, standing in a yellow room
filled with soft morning light, just
as my grandmother had; a space
now kept by someone else.
Behind, souls can't get out:
I see this cable used to raise the door
is snagged with big old knots
I'm loosening. Half waking
to another noticing
attempts to make the same repair,
clearly retied way too many times
I begin to replace the line
with fishing leader. Still
half awake, feeling this
I am inside you always
coming again and again
—Daniel Potter
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