A small poem I am loving

It is a lovely day in Hanover and this is a lovely poem I am loving while missing the people who make this town what it used to be for me.

This Room
by John Ashbery

The room I entered was a dream of this room.
Surely all those feet on the sofa were mine.
The oval portrait
of a dog was me at an early age.
Something shimmers, something is hushed up.

We had macaroni for lunch every day
except Sunday, when a small quail was induced
to be served to us. Why do I tell you these things?
You are not even here.