There’s a room I keep for you (reworked)

There’s a room I keep for you
in the woods near a spring,
a mountain cabin with blued-edged corners,
soft cream-colored walls,
a lilac bush growing by the door.
The door is never locked,
though it has a key.
The key is in your pocket.
In autumn, before the snow sets in,
you come.
You build a fire.
You stand outside the door smoking,
or lie on the floor staring
at the cream-colored ceilings with blue corners.
Imagination enters.

The lilac twists and thickens.
It becomes a wisteria
with soft purple-blue racemes.
It grows around me,
its branches supporting me
All around are fragrances
in many shades of purple-blue.
I laugh and weep with delight,
then snap out of it
and tell the lilac to settle down.
This is your imagination.
It always enters me, too.

I watch you sometimes.
There’s a hillock where I sit.
You walk in the fields
to pick lilies, just one or two.
Beautiful deep-throated ones,
like golden lions
or black-spotted leopards.
You trim their stems.
You place them in this or that crystal vase.
You think I’m a lily, too.
Outside, you lean against the wall,
smoking, eyes distanced.
Watching the fields,
staring at the voids in the woods.
You’re outlined against cream-colored walls.
Blue-edged corners frame you.
You tend the fire.
You lie on your back and stare at the ceiling,
When you leave,
you never lock the door.

Everyone who commented contributed to this edit, so thanks to…

– A. Iyengar, for showing me what I should do if I did this, with your precise, sensitive three-line cut.
– Mukesh, for understanding the poem’s essence, which stopped me from editing it out.
– Gopika, for showing me how others read the poem, and that I’m sometimes redundant.
– Ram, for seeing and not deriding the childish side of me. That child came to the edit, and kept words’ freshness alive.
– Mahedra for showing me a stanza break was possible – and indeed needed, to separate the dream from the promise.
– R. Pradhan, for backing up Mahedra’s criticism, and challenging me find to a solution.

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