Moving Day

The last footsteps echo amongst the cold stone.
The lights go out, as a cool draft
Blows through the marble hallways.
Midnight is soon at hand..
and the paintings begin to glow
with an eerie incandescence
seemingly not of this earth.
Slowly at first, then with more and more grace.
The paint begins to move.
Each man, woman, child, tree, and flower
is alive in it's own reality.
There is still life in the cold corridors,
even though the museum is closed..
Because this.. is moving day.