in the house I live in
in my mind in
my dream sequence there
is a room, there
just below the floor, there sub
strata, sub domain, sub
demesne, sub terrainy, an
apartment with no windows and
I have to crawl on
my belly, wriggle,
wiggle, writhe,
ride the escalator
down, down through a
narrow, low tunnel,
not a channel,
not a chunnel, there,
under a sloping roof, there
is a room, there
is a couch, a
sofa, a red sofa
with pillows, and
cushions, and
other accoutrements, they’re
green: mint and
purple: lilac and
they don’t clash with
over
on
against
the red sofa
in my apartment
beneath the floor, there,
if I go on
further, there
is another passage, there
in the corner, there
is a set of stairs
winding stairs
sliding stairs
finding stairs where
I least expected, they’re
built low and
steep and
deep and
down I go
to another apartment,
apart, yet a part
of the house in
my mind in
my dream sequence and
this one holds water,
plants–red salvia–and
the little humming-
birds hover over the red
salvia, dipping, humming,
sipping nectar and
dew, there
are windows there
in the sub sub domain,
down below,
windows through,
windows to, through
which I have to
crawl, wriggle, wiggle,
and the breeze is blowing through, the
Zephyrus, the
bringer of
harbinger of
singer of
Spring, the
West Wind, it tickles
my hair and
awakens me
beckons me
reckons me
among the blessed there
in the house I live in
in my mind in
my dream sequence there
Annisa Tangreen