There, long shadows like misshaped scarecrows
glide along the walls,
half-forgotten forms
flitting indistinctly by,
bearing stacks of sheets
warm from the press of a coal-heated iron.

In the chamber of mauve taffeta,
crystal and camphor,
white enamel pails gleam,
damask and yellow rose petals curl,
and like loosening tresses fall
into a drawer of gladiolus lace lying
ethereal and unconfiding,
as a prism’s refracting light
shines saffron among its folds.

Figures defined by the dark,
softened by the sympathetic light,
rest open-mouthed on the pink  chaise longue;
in the cold moon’s glance
frosty stones and arid flats lie bleak and inhospitable;
a bouquet of fleece, feed and lanoline
lingers on the air …

In the interval between
the sighing and surging of
the windmill,
between the shifting pepper tree
and the fall of night,
sound the whirling wheels of a distant
train hurrying through the dark.

FIGURE 1: This photo is used with the permission of the author and photographer, Patricia G. Maritz