Fog On Window Panes

I enter the house after a long time

The walls dull

And a deadened silence

Images still moving around, the scent not gone.

I wipe the fog that returns on the window panes

A new pattern appears each time

I stare at the images that come

Not wanting them to remain.

A familiar voice

Springs a little surprise

I wake up

Only to find it’s a dream.

Why, I ask

The images still hanging inside

I open the windows

To let go the images.