Houses We Once Knew

"The houses are all gone under the sea." — T.S. Eliot

We moved through those rooms,
Leaving our fingerprints on the air,
Exhaling our hopeful spirits into those walls,
Eagerly absorbed,
Just passing through,
Though they remain.
Memory offers a window
With a finer view,
From a room in need
Of no renovation,
Where laughter and delight commingle
With tears and disappointments.
Sweetly, though,
We never left that
Bright afternoon,
Brimming with hope,
As we backed
Out of the drive
For the last time.