The painter's drawer contains all sorts of odds and ends.
Through a bent t'wards sentiment, accumulate old and faithful friends :

	Old paintbrushes that for painting no longer are adept
	but, nevertheless, for keep-sake still are kept.

	Once working pencils and pens that were the artist's vision's vent,
	now lay far towards the back - feeble and spent.

The painter's drawer, between two worlds constantly at odds, must make amends,
and bind these two worlds loose into a truce, allaying the vicious enmity that rends.

Existences of too opposing kind
	held in mutual disrepute,
		and caught up in a metaphysical brawl.
Between these two, in the painter's mind,
	begins a conundrum-dispute
		over which is real and which is really not at all.

And it is the painter's drawer's task to sow these disparate worlds together as a seam :
just one small nexus in the binding plexus that links the real world to the one we dream.
[as one fern frond defines the rest, so one drawer defines the chest.]