Wild tiger lilies swath the roadsides.
I look for the flash-and-die green light
of fireflies: electric diamond dust in the dark trees.
This night: another dream in which I discover
hidden rooms within hidden rooms
and well-placed objects from childhood I had forgotten completely:
a cloth doll, tin pail, jar of found feathers.
This house retains its pleasant ghosts—
in the spare bedroom, faint leaves
on the wall, under the pale pistachio paint.
And in a basement storage closet,
penciled notes on the wall.
What is it in us that seeks skin for skin’s sake?
At any rate, the morning was an invitation
and I answered it.