Weapons in a rack, but within reach.
Fresh flowers, dust. Old photographs hung where
you might notice after some training.

There is a space framed in, a focus.
An entrance that opens easily, but
it will lock if pushed from the outside.

The canvas looks smooth, but there are seams.
Over the edge is hard wood, there is soft
carpet covering a cement slab.

Cloth on top of cloth, faded layers
tied tight with tired strands, the stiff and new
knotted together with threadbare -- this
is what covers me.