From the poetry collection published in 2015, Look Winter in the Face.
A neat little apartment I think
that would be just the thing
In a building with my mailbox on its perch
in the grid of all the other mailboxes in the lobby
settled in like friends with each one belonging.
A black-and-white tile floor. Three elevators, carpeted
in neutral hard-wearing gray-tan, one spot
in the corner of the middle car, cleaned
but the floor still showing traces. A quiet hall
door after door.
To come inside the apartment
you close the door and
a solid thunk. You are home. You belong to you.
To go inside the apartment
you close the door
a hollow slam
in the hall. Your neighbors will know you are home.
You belong to them.
You are home
in this place with just enough room not more not less nothing wanted
and you know it. You
push off each shoe in turn with your toes
and sit on your feet
on your sofa.
Just the thing, Just the thing, Just the thing.