Stranger's Home
by Richard Dinges, Jr.

    I felt a brain cell die last night
    in the midst of a dream.
    Once we wandered through a house
    owned by strangers and left our shoes
    at the door. We wandered through
    rooms and open floors plans,
    each room a change in flooring,
    carpet to wood. Furniture drifted
    from soft stuffed fabric into chrome-framed
    glass tables. Out the back door, I opened
    my eyes to the rain-streaked bedroom window.
    Drops shined, each an echo
    of the street lamp, a flash of lightening
    that burned my sight away.
    Which room now, heavy slow breath
    deep in shadow at my side, too frightened
    to move to awaken what I could not
    see, who and where. Closed eyes
    again to find an end or escape
    another door into tomorrow.






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