This house appears in my dreams
regularly, unexpectedly —
so many levels and I am drawn
to the very highest floor, a beautiful space
with wooden ornately carved walls,
ceilings and floors, a relic
it seems from an earlier time.
There are secret niches
and rooms you can open if you know
just where to press the panel.
No one else ever seems to know this place
and so they make themselves comfy
in the lower levels, spacious rooms
with little reading alcoves
and a ballroom for dancing.
When I awaken, sometimes
I reconstruct it in my imagination
losing all the significant messages
I am trying to tell myself
and instead focusing on architecture.
In both realms, waking and dreaming,
it is a diving board
and when I fearlessly jump
I recover lost parts of me.
I’ve been singing alone in a sacred space
and only right now
do I hear my own voice.