Dream Home
Each night is the same as the last.
You wander, searching for a place
to be. You are moving house, or you
have just moved or plan to move.
Tiny apartments, vast decaying
mansions, high-rises with elevators
that won’t start or stop or take you
where you want to go.
Each night is unlike the last. You walk
dark streets in the rain. Every room
opens into another. Windows look out
over the channel, whales breeching.
Underground chambers. Locked doors.
Warehouses of cast-offs and deep
treasures. Bare rooms with tall casements
and linoleum floors. Birds beat
against the glass, air thick
with white feathers. It’s difficult
to breathe underwater. You worry
it will never end. Your legs wane
rubbery with walking. You want
to sit down but all the furniture
is elderly, it wobbles, and it is so,
so quiet. The very walls echo
with silence. You have lived here
before. You will live here again.
Room after room after room,
you will keep looking.
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