Thing collection observation

From the bed there I awake. Light refracted from the window—
two distinctly colored 
mullioned apparitions

guarding (hiding? showing) 
something behind which…
Joel gets up before me. I am often following 

some cue from another’s world 
overlapping with my own 
subset of belongings. Mementos from a few and far between 

experiences…The vintage vase 
we bought and loved which flowers mother over…
I pinch an anther & take pleasure in it…

Egg pollen sack. The floorboard’s pure black crack…
I get on my knees for a better look 
& stick my fingernail in

a band bound round a bag of chips
next to our postcard fridge
a bowl made of aluminum. The concave image is 

a single banana with spots all over it & the candle’s black wick unlit 
& our piano in the basement where I like it
& the world 
that says everything—every thing so important? 

Of all the things you gave to me
the best one I received was a music education. Day in & out 
I play the piece Beethoven pledged to Haydn. In Leipzig or Stadt Wehlen

just outside of Dresden
we helped Frank tend to the orchard—
apples, plums & red currants—

& clear the sheep stall of their useful excrement. Using everything
gives me pleasure, seeing something to the end
measure by measure. I traveled for my lessons 

grateful for the teacher who subsidized my thirty minutes.
She pointed out the details 
to be expressed much deeper. I remember in particular 

a Rêverie by Debussy. She had me give it time 
to breathe, one note to another possibility. The melancholic melody 
seemed to open for a moment 

some thing you could enter through a nexus—is that something written?

I was asked do you dream 
in this or that language and how relaxed, how much room is there
to say what you want? I thought there was

correct and not-behavior, that nothing was created
just uncovered pre-existing 
rules enforced frameworks. However(,) impossible(,)

desires were fulfilled 
in the night
forms grew wings, and crucially, men were where they shouldn’t be…

I just write what I see—
the candle from this morning is still blowing in the cross breeze
and in the span it takes me 
to finish this, it blows out 
a magic trick one two three of not no thing but a dream
an involuntary scene (I couldn’t express 
anything yet) I was concerned with how to say things
grammar was too ordered for
a singular impression