The sound of iron

The sound of iron
The sound of iron, the smell of food, I let it come all over me. I feel so brown, so autumn-brown. Like a leaf carried by the wind. The bed I lie on, the dreams it keeps, I let it come all over me. I get on my feet again and leave the room. I enter the kitchen, but all I see. All I see is a still-life of pots and pans, a gas-cooker, everything. I wish they'd smiled to me to reassure I'm dreaming. But all I see is ice, a world I don't recognize. I can't rely on the things I hear, the things I smell the house I'm in. I must have missed the main way out, I'm stuck inside a house not mine. A house not mine...