Old bones
A house before me
old bones perfumed by the rain
wind carries bird song
down those cushioned steps
to the green room washed with fire
painting the garden
beyond the old door
a bird-crest-red blankets grass
Grown long like a beard
I am just above
In my silent dreamful bed
tracing ceiling cracks
like train tracks heading homeward
through a map unmarked by lines.
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