A rhapsody encircles his walls
without interruption,

Fate and fortune are
in a drawer filled with light,

like a pair of gloves
illuminating the ideal room,

The wrought iron is overwrought,

A striped cushion comes to life
with an occasional song,

Good luck and prosperity are
knobs shaped like a single ball,

The closet is a black box
telling the latitude/longitude
when the bedroom
              crashes to earth,

sampling a door,
sampling a window,

The fundamental doubt of dark

blisters into

red, yellow, blue,

scribbling   testifying  signifying

lofty pleasures,

I had a tiny doll house once with little chairs,
How could a house so small hold so much  love?

How can the eye so small see so much of the world?

© Grace Cavalieri, all rights reserved