Future Ghost Poem by Donatien Moisdon

I dream of a welcoming house
with old-fashioned, wood-shiny floors,
with hyacinths on window sills
indoors
and geranium on window sills
outdoors.

I dream of a soft, loving place
where chimes a muffled Westinghouse
wall clock
like a patter of padded feet
when a cat hesitates and jumps.

I dream of a warm atmosphere
where I slither like a fragrance,
bodyless and free as a wish.

All, here, is to me denied:
peace and quiet, serenity.

Shall I adopt a wise old house,
a reflection of past ages
where they could treat me like a friend
without suspicion or fear?