Unrolled the sleeping bags in front of the fireplace.
Uncorked the bottle of wine.
Our eyes and the blank walls made wild plans
of the domestic persuasion.
The home where I hang my toothbrush
now tangible
grows lumps and piles of boxes in corners.
It grows a Christmas tree.
and slowly the home on my back
unfolds itself around this crackling fire.
Base Camp.
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