The journey toward home has its obstacles and weigh stations.
Because time is fluid and consequently the self is fluid.
Identity is fluid, and appears in different forms.
So along the way there are poems where
the house takes different forms, and where
the self takes different forms.
So this is another poem from that series.
It's called "House Double."
"The night is uplifted with all you can see.
Of a neighbor's bedroom on its light tray.
Some branch of mulberry interferes
like the minds vestigial tail.
Though the blue drapes are parted, and drawers
are shining like steps.
Though the blurred picture on the far wall
could be a boat or a face.
You make out a lion dressed in human clothes.
When you were a child and first entered that room
where they were sleeping.
It's enormous mirror cave keeping
the mysterious cluster of keys safe in the region of duality.
Your heart was uncomfortable as your eyes in the den of being.
Their ribs were mountains in the sky of your enchanted egg.
Tonight, the father first walks into the jewel
and hangs a shadow like a skin.
In the closets, morpho mania.
Then the mother's arm with just its beak
draws the blue folds across the next imagination.
With a negative of space, abides.
Like a future that entered you long ago
and changed itself in you.
Keeping the primal order of things,
with your earliest thought not to wake them."