When I stumble 
over five sets of sneakers,
navigate the closet
overflowing with framed
pictures, piles of towels, a bassoon;

when our bureau is cluttered with T-shirts,
your meds displayed
on the dining room table, the recliner arranged
to accomodate the cat, and leftovers
linger on the counter;

when our folded laundry waits
to be put away,
bills call from every surface,
and dust, surprise, stays under
the bed,

our daughter tells me to talk it out,
illustrates how she and her sweetheart
have discussed the disposition of the dishtowels
and found a middle ground
and have yet to start to look like each other.