House Built of Dreams To look in from above you'd have to part
fog's deep breath, the veil of night, moon's eye;
Remove the tin roof that echoes hard rain
or trembles in high winds, to find our four
sleeping bodies. Each arranged like estranged
letters who haven't yet found each other
to form a word. On the top floor are thick
footed adult dreams: labyrinths leading
to piles of unpaid bills, ungraded
essays, and sometimes a naked lover.
But below the windows are open and
yellow-stripped hot air balloons rise up like
hope. A jungle of trees sweat and offer
vines that swing out toward places unknown
where love lies down next to you in bed
solid and warm and never let's you go.
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