Whispers at Sunset

The sunset ignites the house like a wooden sail.
She recreates herself, softly, through cracks and fading scents.
The rooms align to the breath of the final light,
and the furniture tells tales no ear has ever known.
The table lets fall a memory upon the floor,
a chair whispers steps from nights beyond the horizon.
The lamp breathes out; the ceiling seems to listen,
and the house closes into the silence that knows it.