At the crossroads of a drawer
fall leaves crunching their murmur
the curtain, heavy with the warmth of the sun
I don’t believe my eyes.
The curvature of stairs heading nowhere
the corridor of the panels and doors, do I know them
sleep of the dust in a glass vase and its dance in light
I can’t believe my nose.
Blue coolness of the water surface
two mediums presented for me on a plate
simple this treat as pickle herring
I don’t believe my skin.
Bulging clouds rain that shoots across the skies
violin of the warmth spilling in the belly of the heater
eyes dim song while thoughts are thundering
I can’t believe my ears.