The objects in my room

My eyes fall sometimes on the objects in my room
A stolid desk the cabinet that holds my music’s breath
The bookshelves colorful and slim an Afghan rug still
Clinging to its rhythmic red the busy reproductions
On the walls the table buried under scribbles much
  like these
All familiar housemates co-conspirators of dreams
Who in their kind restraint ask nothing that I do not
  ask of them
These gentle things enablers of my living
Neither unforgiving nor forgiving but in a state
Of readiness when in my need
I turn to lean on them

9/30/97, 7/1/08

Copyright 1997, 2008 by Maurice Leiter

Posted with permission.