Not much

I don’t need much

a small room under a skylight where the moon can pour in

sharing over a meal at the end of the day sieving strands of meaning from chaos and noise

a few feet of bed, enough to lay flat on when my hips hurt, to turn away from whoever isn’t there

I prefer small now, choose it over and over again over breadth of space

something I can tuck myself into, look out of through luminous eyes