In my house there are so many rooms
I can wander for days and not visit them all
The tiny room where the pony waits
The tall room where tomorrow hides among the
On the high shelf in the closet
The dark room pitched at that strange angle
Where it is always half-past midnight and
No one ever sleeps.
In the wallpapered room at the end of the hall
I find a door where once there was a wall
And sun shines through curtains that used to be flowers
And stardust gathers like stories
Behind the old sofa.