Possessions forward themselves readily to a new location,
Chairs arrange themselves in proper relation to friends and tables,
Furniture does not look lost,
or forlorn; it all finds a place and nestles into the carpet,
breathing in the new air,
hoping for new acquaintances, happy to welcome...
happy to be.
You can put your heart,
all the wee droplets of what you feel,
and even more, all the dreams you crush inside into tiny cubes
to stack behind the wall of beating heart muscle...
You can bring that to your new home,
hiding it again behind the many pillows,
slicing things thinly to fit between the soft sheets,
all that will come with you,
It just takes a bit more strength and,
you can't hire handy help to move your dreams.
But you can't make anyone else
move their heart into your home.
It isn't within your power to play treasure hunt behind their pillows,
What they feel in rainbowing arcs as the droplets hit the sun,
is not printed in a graphic novel, that makes it all clear,
instead is washed across the pavement like a chalk drawing
after a thunderstorm...in colors you're not sure you even see.
And what their dreams are you don't know,
Only yours in tiny cubes,
making a home again.