The Same Room Twice

I once read that you can't walk into
the same room twice.

Which could be a comment
on a room's lighting,
how it is constantly changing:
how candlelight burns dimly,
how moonlight glows softly;
how sunlight, in the afternoon
captures dust in phosphorescent
vacuums, sending yellow-hued chute
after chute spiraling inward from the windows.

But what if there aren't any windows?
What if a room is devoid of light?
(Why can't a dark room
be a dark room, twice?)

It must be that the meaning has more to do
with the Gravity a room can occupy.
With the presence, or removal of
a mood, or memory.

(In the rooms that I've reentered here
I've heard familiar voices echoing
where bodies can't be traced.
I've seen familiar shadows struggling
to maintain their shapes; most walls
still stand with infallible weight
and in rooms, which at one time
where hardest to leave,
the floorboards still tend
to speak.

And yet, I have found
to my bittersweet relief—
these rooms have changed.)

.