My bureaus and dressers,
all crossed with blue tape,
a sea of cubed cardboard
spilling out into the hallway
and into all the other rooms.
Where is my bedside table?
Why does the morning smell
like fresh coats of paint,
and why a sound
like a parade of identical cars?
My muscles still burn
from the hours of unpacking
from yesterday’s move.
Where is my toothbrush? My comb?
Then I see you,
tranquil and sleeping
and I know
I am home.