Twilight becomes its second skin, nowadays
in a world
where precautions are of high significance,
where hands no longer touch accidentally on the subway,
how strange it all seems now that we speak of it.
For fear that they would scatter I did not lift my eyes;
roseate blooms that hung,
I could share it with you; we may not speak to each other
on a daily basis but I’d like to think there is part of us
loosely connected, like the sidewalk
that connects to this house, where love affairs always begin.
Provoke the walls with thought;
come revive hours long wasted on a day like this—you can tell a lot
about a house by its belongings,
the plush sofa set, the items on the kitchen counter,
or coffee mug forgotten by the fireplace.
Disregard the fogged up window;
often the eye cannot see past the exterior, a touch to unravel gossamer
dreams, a kiss to usher away the clouds,
but what of insecurities?
What of doubts that plague once the moon is high in the sky,
surely a house has the means to rid us of these things?
Day after day I remind myself,
it’s not enough to live prepared, there are times when one has to absorb
a house is made up of the energy we pour into it; choose wisely,
emerge from the shadows—
I forgot how beautiful it is once the light from the orb hits;
house on other end of Mulberry Street.
Photo credits: “Closed wooden door,” by Anfisa, pexels
Laura hosts at dVerse and invites us to be voyeurs, peeping through
windows and doors- to conjure an imaginary house- make it literal but
move into metaphorical if we wish. Come join us! 💝
Posted for Poetics: “Outside Looking In,” @dVerse Poets Pub