I dreamed a house…
bright within and filled with folk,
their happiness and quarrels
and blessings and trials,
laughter and tears,
and all the things of life
as folk live it,
and though I sought around,
front and back and sides
seeking a door,
even a window left ajar,
no way in was there
that I could find.

A feast I dreamed,
lavish and bright with
shining goblets of gem-like drink,
aromatic steams arising
from fresh breads and meats;
fresh fruits arranged in pyramids,
dainties and desserts arrayed
like sweet fantasies…
an endless trestle filled
with gleaming dishes;
I reached out
but the feast fell back
and I woke hungry still.

It is as if I dwell,
with my own quiet company
in my own house
filled with things
particularly gathered there
yet on a different plane
just a bit removed,
a little sideways from
the world of feasts and folk;
I dream asleep or waking
of what I can see
but cannot touch
nor imagine how to shape.


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