A WRINKLE IN TIME in Postcards 4

The pillows lean toward themselves
plumply
gently melting into their chairs
softly folding into their neighbors
delightfuly reshaping the sofa,
sliding into the old Morris chair
as if they really belong there
instead of on the floor.
I let them move slowly thinking
about their shapes yet leave them
unchanging
every day
never touching them, never
adjusting their slow slide
nor folding their ruffles
not plumping them into some form of
obedience
not adjusting my own
long slide or ruffles either.