T H E H O U S E
Sooner or later
everyone comes to the house.
If in the morning
as the light
approaches a wall, carefully,
slips around the corners, you --
I am not talking to you
but at night
when the dark windows begin
to glisten under the moon
you come to it
put your hand
in, you hear me in there?
have you found your room?
your answer is an echo
your answer
is not an answer
it is
your moving up and down
you
rising by night
falling by day
rising before a window
unknown, unseen
but to yourself?
with your fingers pressing the glass
your face a faint reflection
in your eyes.