deep and lineated
distant iron,
folded neatly,
put away in its dust jacket
forcing propriety
on a passing world,
the deep green of suburbia
steps and spirals,
turning in and out,
waving at the dog's tail
the surrounds of a flowing dress
long on a packed floor
flattened by feet,
so many impressions to make
not enough words for everyone.

©Thomas Mitchell 1996