Poem: February Dreams

February Dreams

The furniture is still in place.
The pictures hang on the walls.
Books line each shelf, filled to overflowing.

You sit at your desk,
scanning the room with your eyes, seeing
not the room as it is,

but empty, with the winter light
streaming in a lonely window.
You imagine

all this, there. In a new land
far from where you have lived all your life,
and suddenly

home is no longer home.
It is only a waystation, a step into eternity
that is alive, like winter's thaw,

an unexpected warmth.
You blink, and everything is the same,
almost,

for having seen the future,
nothing is the same
ever again.

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The picture is from the interior of the Rice House in Manchester, VT. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom