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you would like to live
in the old house
with thick walls and wide windowsills
on which you would sit embracing your knees
as darkness came
you would easily grow accustomed
to the cosy ghosts
of this house
and would listen to something
forgotten playing in the moonlight
sometimes an unfamiliar barefoot
child with a long nightgown would run in
and would ask you to take her on your knees
the stairs would creak, as if someone was climbing
above the ceiling steps, a cough
those hands that sewed
the covers of these chairs
have long since gone to dust
and the colors have faded
how much warmth
and love in these patterns
and you too will someday be
only a ghost
in an old house