Moving the Old Bedroom Out You unravel the carpet from the bong-stained floor and rub grains of beach sand into the boards varnish them to catch the sun's eyes You slap bohemian paint on the stills; I line the ledge with star shells. We talk of bamboo blinds soft, silken curtains and lacquered screens. You whisper; there's a strange room in our house and the bed rises. We sink into the goose-down our eyes catch the tide racing across the skylight. Karen Knight