A Return to Copenhagen

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Walking back in,
The house is as how it was
When I last walked out its halls

In spite of ten years’
Distancing space now stuck deep
And having dulled by bits, the walls.

Furniture untouched,
Framed photos merely dulled
As how the falling sunlight on paper
Has their fragrance, colour lulled. The
Hourglass shape of the vase,

To deposited layers, given way. The
Half bud flowers, all untouched, since
Bloomed fire, hailed, recoiled to fade.

Uncertain steps, not lost for vigour, but
Slowed by the lack of touch, make it to where
The light falls beaming through the opened door
Left half ajar by an unlatched latch

And there, on the table, retrieve
A glass, brim-filled and left
To be had, upon a return if I’d had,
Now a full ten years past.

And tempered with time, the glass glistens
What, in essence, it hold

For the returner to hold up to his lips
And to proceed, if he is wont to be bold.



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