The Sigh

The sigh flutters across the room,
I turn, I expect to see its author,
But I see no one there now, just
A small lamp, its tasseled
Shade glows, an almost sun set,
On a diminutive wooden table.
The amber light as if it were
In the corner of a painting,
Carefully hung in a distant past,
A wall of famed impressionists
With well deserved, significant words
From an authoritative audio guide.
But, no sign of the sigh’s flutter.