The House in the Night

I dreamt of a world in pitch.
air churning in the fields
and between the trees. What yields
you would not wish to know,
traps in the forest floor
and assailants concealed
behind trees. The light revealed
is charming, then, more so than magic,
or science. I walked towards it in the dream
and saw a single house of elegant design,
a party in the living room,
the room itself living. A music floats
like smoke from a newly baked pie
towards a cartoon cat’s nostrils.
When I reach the door
I’m admitted, cannot believe
my good fortune.
And yet it is not opportune,
these people seem to know me well,
the woman in the long beige dress
dancing by the fireplace,
the tattooed chap in biker’s chaps
and coat, the newly widowed minister
of some heathen belief.
The record player chatters on
along its gaudy lines,
and all of us are drenched in gratitude,
protected from the dark and cold outside,
viewing it as ocean depths
from inside a U-boat. I wake up, then,
just as I was getting warm.