My House.

My house is part of my mind.
The gadgets that pack my house
are facets of my intellect,
keys to who I am.
Likewise my books,
my collages and paintings,
my piano and my harp.

The porcelain bowls,
the plastic cups,
the chairs, the tables,
are telling tales about me
that only strangers hear,
I am deaf to what they say
because they are my friends,
my cheek by jowl companions
throughout each night and day.

Strangers wander in and out,
check the boiler, change a tap,
repair the garage awning,
mop the floor,
 yet they see what I don`t see,
a world in perfect miniature,
my sacred dreams laid bare,

The personal is deeply sacred,
something we forget,
or turn away from at our peril.
When you walk into my house,
you break into my dreams,
breach my imagination,
become part of who I am.
A trace of you will stick
even though the memories falter.

Knock on the door and enter,
but please leave your shoes upon the step.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 22nd. - 23rd. 2017.