Box

Blank walls        spaces

If only they were trees

and their leaves turned

green 

           red 

      yellow

falling.

Perhaps I can arrange my books

their broken spines like this:

brown/seed green/shoot yellow/bud red/flower

so I don't forget

the movement of the seasons.

Perhaps I'll discover curious animals

hiding amongst the pages,

between faded words,

under folded corners.

Give me the music of a constant stream

tiny bells

polishing stones.

Instead of drip

           drip

           drip

           drip

           drip of the broken tap

in the kitchen.

And give me a glimpse of glittering Orion

instead of cracks

in the ceiling.