The Four-Sided Box
My world isn’t round
when it’s a four-sided box
made from cement, glass, and wood.
The ceiling is the sky
that illuminates at my command.
The floor is terra firma
where my feet make contact.
The walls are oceans
where islands emerge in frames.
The plants are forests,
dependent on me for water.
The furniture are hills and mountains,
keepers of my past and present.
The bed is a vast plain
for sleep to find refuge.
The windows and doors are the cosmos
hidden by shades . . . sealed by locks,
ensuring me that I will be safe.