I know

sometimes the light's
too bright,
harsh, bleaching;
and the corners too dark,
where the sun
doesn't creep in.
in the darkest dark
my heart is reaching,
beating and pleading
that someday
you'll recall
the house where
we played on the floor,
forts were cast
and castles crashed,
lap-read books
were encored,
more! more!
chaotic dance
of play and wild,
drawing, dizzying,
loud; beguiled,
this all retold
in later
moments mild,
in the house
of two plus four
where love filled
wall to door
and cast shadows
on the floor.