Room 307’s First December Dusk

Scrapes and scuttles above my bed
but beneath the record player crooning
carols for the sliders and shufflers
to grate and whoosh to-

Do tree and garland rise in the upstairs room?
Or does the furniture scoot to perfect
disorganization?
And that, for feet to twirl and sway-
for the first or hundredth time?

With arms open as wide as the hearts
centered at their core,
joining the jingles
to which I match my rhyme-

These neighbors on whom to speculate,
with whom to entwine,
deep inside the music
that weaves through the night.

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13 thoughts on “Room 307’s First December Dusk

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