Transformations
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
Add comment