A single stream of sunlight comes in through dirty glass
A river of light distorted, illuminating dust
immortalized, mummified, caught like ghosts.
Paths in the light echo what the room has witnessed and recorded:
Desires, Comforts offered, dreams and wishes forgotten by the one who forged them,
but not by the room.
They are kept there, in it’s quiet embrace.
As a mourning mother holds the memory of a child taken –
sleeplessly and alone.
Her mind is such a place,
in which
a father’s garden grows
It’s perfect rows of carrots still lovingly tended
The patterns for children’s clothes lay, pinned to their fabric, arranged on the floor
A girl gazes into the mirror of a dressing table, dreaming of a dance
and an old man’s pipe rests, still warm, by his abandoned rocking chair.
Dust in the light
Until the sun withdraws, leaving the lover silent for another day’s dreaming.
Backyard Botanics 