I imagine a small room in a cottage
green and red wallpaper
portraits from a disposable camera
old letters scattered on a wooden desk
wet ink once again and books we'd read
to comment over hot chocolate or cigarettes
after delaying dawns between the sheets
and the cold draws little faces on the window
looking out towards a garden
where the music we danced to no longer plays
and I remember pajamas and a red yarn sweater
and gingerbread cookies and a piano serenade
the melody sounds like car rides to the snow
rides to little cold kisses on the nose
and snowflakes and a dashboard with a note
handwriting of children that look at us
playing in the trees
sliding between eyelashes
swimming through my eyes
and I see legs and footsteps and a fork in the path
and a familiar figure greets me from afar
and I hear myself calling a name
and even my voice sounds a little strange