I
years ago
and it makes no difference
the way art and impression
spirit long outlast
other real things
warmer than it could have been
winter still
chill enough for a scarf
to tie my blood’s warmth
tight against itself
a walk for health
and the cheer of routine
and old stone facades for company
their yellow eyes on the street
rarely winking with life
the one told me then
it would call to me now
a memory already in the moment
peopled only with ghosts
lives never lived
three rooms within a room
sofas paired by chairs
in spaces separate empty
and private dreaming
of anachronistic soirees
smiling or quiet
a kindly woman takes her turn
at the piano so rarely played
some listen and talk or sip and turn
against the wind outside
my unsent invitation
was for nothing more than I took
standing alone and knowing
I would have drawn the curtains
to read silent apart
had I nerve and approached
a doorman phantom would ask
if all past and future sins
have been forgiven already
for gaining such welcome
grace trickling through time
was for me to see what
I never would of my own
to understand a love
who would come only when I could