Potpourri and paint

Yes it’s true that materials play their part,
bricks and mortar, wood and glass,
a colour you found for the front door
that makes the Maple burn its brightest,
but they are all just pieces of a collective,
It’s formed in layers not
specific things or places.
 
It’s the wet nose of a dog that
that nudges onto tears,
a strip of morning sunlight that makes
the dust dance and finds the cat curled,
a coffee mug and its coaster rings
that briefly fog the glass.
 
It sits beside us all for family TV,
stretches out when someone leaves the settee,
kisses in the kitchen waiting for the kettle
and echoes round a Sunday table leaving
laughter on dried up peas and gravy drips.
You can see it breathe as curtains lift,
Its heart is found on the mantel piece,
tracking life in time-checked glances.
 
It’s in that box with all the bits
the drawer with batteries and paper clips
the photographs with aging styles
the turning pages that make us smile
the garage cobwebs and fluorescent light
the tins of screws and moths at night
it’s under the sink at the back of a cupboard,
a vessel of life to be discovered.