In which the studio
grows L-shaped, with an alcove
for the bed, you modest dream, in which the railroad
widens sideways, new door
a sudden wing ought to invade the brownstone
next door, but that brownstone loses nothing in the dream
in which another room
it’s huge, with grand piano and French doors
opening on a view of my private beach, why have I never bothered
going in this room before?
Those years obedient to time is money when
it’s space that’s time, every tenant diligently building out the common night