On Wisconsin’s Superior shore
in a century old Victorian house
a large painting sits at the top of the stairs.
I stand at the bottom and flow through the spaces
to the painting of familiar face.
Memories of the unremembered
loosely linger like breath breathing.
They peek through dining room door,
land on landings,
spirit up stairs,
fly out windows to the left.
Images of time
of love lost and found
pass through doorways of my heart,
change at mid-day,
drip sunrays into what I once knew.
Reality falls backwards
swallowed into soft translucent layers.
Hours and minutes blend into levels of violet
making difficult the sight of what transpires
as real or memory or dream.
The south sun shines.
The woman at the top of the stairs stands.
I am overcome by afternoon lethargy.
Art's reflection approaches
aligns by my side and
we sleep as one.