Clearing House

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.

 

 

 

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