5/3/11
Dismantling one's living room,
Proves quite an exercise.
Like scattered lint and dust we broom,
Our life is swept aside.
All structured comforts we embraced,
Which anchored us before,
Are in a few swift moves effaced.
By this straightforward chore.
And all the conversations shared,
When this space once was filled,
Hang silent in the vacant air,
Invisible and still.
The lives we lead may only lease,
Their presence for a time,
And all the rooms in which we meet,
Are cups of savored wine.
Which hold the essence of the day,
Until it comes to pass,
To have their contents drawn away.
Left only, spotted glass.