There is within a longing
for the deep hours.
Ones where entire days
disappear in a blink
and worlds are discovered,
word by word.
Those simmering moments when day paints the hall
with shafts of ambered gold,
and dust swirls a riotous ballet
through light while in the silence
is held echos of childish squeals
as ghosts skip airlessly by.
Header photograph © Susan Mulder.
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