I Dream of a Little Room in a Little Cottage

It's the way the sun shafts

through gridded windows,

little golden amber squares

marching up the squeaky stairs,

to lie on a quilted bed

tucked up under the eaves,

as fall releases its leaves

and dreams of winter.

Wood smoke curls,

ephemeral pearls,

from a fireplace

wrapped in stones

studded with the bones

of the fossilized homes

of sea creatures long gone,

drifts through shafts

now golden yellow,

day's end mellow,

entwines with steam

from the kettle,

a stray beam

seen, then not

in the lightest of breezes

stirs the gauze and eases

the evening in,

the light of the new moon

pale and faint,

constraint and restraint,

the flowers unbloom,

the wind sighs,

little creatures edgewise,

curtains close on a room

tucked in like a womb.