I Often Dream of Secret Rooms

I find this room I never knew
existed, an attic accessed by hidden stairs.
Big stuffed chair, slanted skylight.
A book I have never read
rests on a table casually
as if someone just put it down.
If I sit there quietly,
I can hear footsteps below,
back and forth,
searching. If I sit quietly
long enough, they go away.

I step inside a  dark closet
but find strange windows, curtained
with billows of illusion,
an bright space filled
with glaring whiteness
where pale shadows dance
across the ceiling--
a wedding veil room with northern light.

I walk down the hall
carrying a laundry basket and right there,
between linen closet and bathroom,
a sudden door springs open.
Warm, woodsy walls
stretch impossibly long.
Chairs line up along edges
like a waiting room. Laundry forgotten,
I sit down and wait.