Song of Things

In the corner of drawers, forgotten objects find a voice.
A broken cup tells of breakfasts never begun.
A rusty key tunes the echo of closed doors.
A dusty notebook unfurls maps of journeys never started.
When the city closes its eyes, the chorus reforms in silence.
Every thing regains its voice: paper, thread, glass, button.
The small table, the extinguished lamp, the empty chair sing to the ear of night.
And we listen to a tiny universe that finds its note again.