Chattles

Let door will be ajar
The world is going to pass this way
By the thousands of his odds and ends
What stood on the centre

What stood aside
Faded traced of theirs
Existence of the chattles
The table talk is over
Squeaky voices, all days long

Image and sounds went away
Out of the wooden world
Light scampered away in the darkness
I had dwelt at the house

For so many years
And never observed his death
I get used to her sleep presence
In the bedroom

Nobody keeps the vanishing world
I saw him crossing house threshold
He looked at himself in a mirror
And became the awaited past
To himself, He so wished.