The Second Time

Violin veers dangerously left on the top shelf,
stopped by a closet that's just a little too small
with no door handle. Doesn't matter.
Charactered window handles swing open to night air floods in,
rests on still, stacked boxes before tumbling
over and under the bed that is larger than last -
a small treasure in the new city of labels and "fragile."
I catch drawer towers teetering with scarves inside,
plastic holds together,
close call could have knocked it all over
more mess for the already pile.
Halloween candy and yesterday's soup and dry oranges are great sustenance
and boxes flattened mock the job not done yet.
Not done but undone on the floor is a way that I
can match the garbage bag of clothes that just split open.