It was

the sense of having reached the limit. Or even
gone beyond. How to explain to someone else
when your basic condition is knowing you barely 
have words for things in this universe? I try to strip
the shelves of my excesses. Why did I need more
than one pen, one bottle of ink? Once, I promised
to write real letters, real postcards. Take them
to the post office for stamps. Once, this space
we took over was furnished mostly in sunlight
and dust. I know it is always too much to ask
for happiness. The ideal thing is to let it come
to you like an animal pushing a wet nose into
your palm, its breath twitchy as your own,
each of you as surprised as the other.