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There is a starfish
at the top of the room.
Dried and retired, it stands
on a ledge above the fireplace,
above the bookshelf,
above the mirror,
two feet away from the boomerangs.
It stands directly under the fire alarm.
It stands, for all the world like a small person,
with arms out to either side
and feet spread wide for balance,
and head leaned back so it doesn't look down.
It hugs the wall behind it,
which is actually a beam,
gigantic by comparison and solid.
The starfish could be sneaking up on the fire alarm,
Mission Impossible style,
or it could be
edging
toward
the
cliff.
Don't jump, little starfish!
You are not unappreciated!
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