Life on a little table

this little table
is chaos for me
home, exhausted
i shed what i wear
the table holds
artifacts of no time
and offerings for myself,
set in silver, like these:

moonstone pendant,
a polished sliver of clouds and blue sky;
green tourmaline,
that i wear at my throat when my spirit is broken;
ring from Tibet,
a mirror of love;

Life on a little table

and enamel for nails, the color of shells
two DVD’s V-Z and Waqt, unwatched for months
a paper cylinder, with some cotton-tipped swabs
glasses
cellphone
woven-reed box
lavender bowl
small demitasse cup, from grandfather’s world

this clutter
these fragments
of life at this time
look strange,
disconnected.
there’s no room to type.