|Jul/Aug 2008 Poetry|
Window 5: Dream 1
I am a ghost living
in a Japanese-style house. I sleep
on the cold cement,
sometimes on bamboo,
where the owner of the house opens the hallway door,
or maybe I open it, and there he is covered
in black hair, standing erect as death
and motionless like some doll.
I'm aware he's deathly afraid of me,
or maybe lively afraid the other girl,
she's sleeping next to meó
Did you see him naked?
I saw his soul.
What did it look like? An open mouth.