six

all of these many little things of my life

now lying all about my feet

confused bits and scattered pieces

a broken cup of clay to mend

some giant symbolic jig-saw puzzle

canvases here, blank and white

empty frames there

pictures hidden behind the door

easel in the closet

tubes of oil color in a basket

brushes standing in a coffee can

piles of used paper stacked all about

books collecting dust upon the shelves

pick up something to play with

like a small child with a toy

losing interest and dropping it anywhere

clean the room so maternally

order it all whichever way

heap them into another corner

sweep some beneath the bed

toys of my time

still remain

simple objects

of life's simple pleasures

lying about confused

in incomplete disarray

chaotic and useless to the real world

now is the time to put them back together again

into some new kind of meaningful whole

a mature pattern, some adult plan

another answer to my still incomplete

yet unfinished lifetime