Wisteria and heliotrope tap upon the window
Cascading canopies of blooms obscure the lace of light
These antediluvian drifting dreams needs a careful cleansing
Wander though the rooms
Trail a finger here along the shelves
Leaving lines behind, each one holds a story
The old clock with a muffled tick marks time,
A perpetual metronome to music echoed in the hall.
Polished, worn piano keys, lid closed now and silent.
Take a yellow dust cloth, wipe it all away
Open wide resistant, creaking window frames
Shake the dust out, flying to the stratosphere.
Life is not for fragile vases, balanced near the fire.
Crematorium dust belongs beneath the roses
Sheltered in rich earth.
At the kitchen sink, elbow deep in suds,
I recall a rubaiyat, I sense reverberation
Somewhere in my memory, a penetrating message, from Arcadia.