so long familiar

All the photographs are faded.
All the clocks are slow.
Last year's words lie stale like smoke
on used up air; the piano keys
are touched only to be dusted.
Rooms and furnishings
have been so long familiar
that they are merely memories;
and now is happening elsewhere.

But, habit being a substitute for will,
though the mirrors are tired of our faces,
and spring comes later each year,
we can go on lighting flowers like candles
at windows dissolved by rain.

Veronica Forrest-Thomson, "In This House"