Four Walls

Scattered socks, wires, and clips,
often on the floor I slip,
books align in domino fashion,
canvas, papers, abandoned passions.

In little frames, all those I love,
an angel trinket, a tiny glass dove,
gathered from all my trips,
are tickets, receipts, tape and tips.

A careless pile of worn-out coats
a wooden box stacked with notes
in my quiet corner full of bliss,
I sit and wander among the abyss.