Nothing quite prepares your muscles for that kind of heavy lifting,
the contortion around corners and low-hanging doorframes,
and the way summer suddenly barrels down with dry heat and punishing sun.
But I mean beyond that, how you become so aware of the weight
of possession, the history you’ve carried all these years, your objects holding
the stories of your stories, and how despite that, you are a flush of innocence,
biting into the bright apple of a new beginning, advancing toward the clearing
without out any certainty of what you will find there, yet feeling ready and resilient.
All day, your body submits to the task, bending and twisting with a rare eagerness,
drunk on the fresh start nesting in this strange address.