The voices in the other room rise
pervading the walls and grinding
my silence,
but I press a button and
Ravel on the piano drowns them

A breeze stirs the curtains
the computer hums to itself in the corner
midday heat causes sleepy hills to rest
quiet under the sun
and the little flowers bow their heads

The sky is a blue so vibrant it seems
detatched from the land, the world
and a smear of white cloud
mars its condescent

Sage murmurs softly to the buckwheat
and a stab of yucca looks on
a bunch of white flowers lace at its throat

The blue sky of haughty seems to have
sucked all the color out of this noon world
and invested it in a richer cloak

All this, outside my window
softened by billowing curtains
and peachy white walls

A lamp curves gracefully
a wire music stand sits its awkward limbs
as elegantly as possible in the corner
mismatched bottles of perfume
round and fat, long and tall
congregate on the dresser
frozen forever in conversation

On my bed of the cornflower blue
sheets and pale pine
I sit, content, and watch the world
Previously distressed by emotions not entirely explainable
now calmed by verse and music
(a smattering of pictures on the walls)
my mind turns, and I pick up a book