In the quiet room with the clouds and stars painted on the slanting ceiling above
I stare out the window at the chalky ethereal sky.
Mist surrounds the hazy frame of the tall tree whose image has found its way up into the window.
The children are quietly sleeping, their breaths softly making music.
It's raining but I can't hear it. I feel it.
I sit rocking in the dark, watching over them
But my mind is far away, out of this small cold room
In another time, another place.
Soft music plays in my head as I think of someone far away.