Here’s where we come in, floored by familiar
rooms we enter for the first time.

Layers of peeling paint, lost walls and molding,
play with our sense of possibility.

We welcome them back, regaining the memory
of rough thoughts former roomers

brought up from the street, train the eye
to penetrate the absence of small touches.

Through the transom, across the coal fireplace,
along hardwood floor, afternoon light, particularly

the light new tenants bring with them
packed in with cookbooks and glazed cups,

recovers that original shine, spreads warmth
like baking brad, calm voices settling.