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Think about the ways in which the burglar
enters your home.
In an adjacent room, you channel
a lesser known ancient spirit,
both beloved and villainized,
ensuring our rapt attention.
He’s rummaging through the crisper now.
45 years later,
glaciers glaciate, a sonorous
drone coming in from New Hampshire.
Meanwhile, the doldrums suggest
every truck driver receive
their rare bird. Some people go
their whole lives without considering
the wind and its effect on the body.
To be windward is to face it.
Still, when the dust settles,
what more can we do
in the rustling of the night?
I am arriving at an idea,
and having emptied the clown car
at dusk, it seems we’re all encountering
manifold beings.
While a ghostly form situates,
I am thinking of the burglar next door,
luxuriating in a blue chaise lounge.
The dream doesn’t account for this.
Description? The one you just saw.
