December 3, 2010
Dream House
I can’t count the doors, really,
as that would break the illusion,
but there are a lot of them,
hallways and connections and stairs,
and each is perfectly labelled
with the name of you, or you,
one who I know
(is a real person doing real things
somewhere out there, living a life
I’m not always aware of but,
frankly, glad to be a part of
through living screens,
beamed words,
shared pleasures)
like my many familiar fingertips
who bang away,
building plans,
architects of a place
where the world is right
and the people,
so many,
who are important,
sit down to dinner together each night
and toast to love
before making it a real.In the glow, the clack, the hum,
I can touch it now.
I had nothing else to write about, so I ended up writing a poem.
Love is awesome. I think you’ll know if this is about you.
Have a good day.