I remember her now as the house

I remember her now as the house
I'm sleeping in, a house that has four walls
That move the energies of people through
In turn, like reading through a narrative.

I moved a maroon sofa over some
To see what was hidden underneath it.
I'd only seen the floor a couple times
Because a carpet usually is there,

But if I move while she's yawning--distracted--
I get a quick glimpse of what is behind
The veil of things that populate this space.

O friend! You hold me like the trembling walls
Have held me in the past, when turbulence
Has rumbled through the windows with a growl.