Adrienne Rich — Moving in Winter

Their life, collapsed like unplayed cards, is carried piecemeal through the snow; Headboard and footboard now, the bed where overhead his sleep will build its canopy to smother her once more; their table, by four elbows worn evening after evening while the wax runs down; mirrors grey with reflecting them, bureaus coffining from the cold things that can shuffle in a drawer, carpets rolled up around those echoes which, shaken out, take wing and breed new altercations, the old silences.