I observe the quality of light
streaming through
the windows
watching how it
touches the wood of the floor,
the metal of the wrought-iron
table that has been
in this house
for decades.
One day this house
will be gone,
or will belong to another,
with no one to see
the passage of time,
of love
through its windows,
and walls
and doors,
with no one to listen to
the laughter
of three generations
of children
that has seeped into
the peeling paint
and the dust
in the far
corners and
Lola's china cabinets.
But I am here now,
watching, listening.
I will remember
for them
that this house is
not just a frame
against the elements
but a temple
sacred with countless,
priceless
family artifacts,
each one touched
with love
beyond grief.
For Vier and his family
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