Dreams about bathrooms

I have had many dreams
in which I am desperate

to find a bathroom—
In one, I walked in circles

through a house full of people:
the lights were blazing;

the women were like tufted flowers
in their ball gowns. I tried

door after door only to find
myself in a parlor where the rugs

were deep crimson, and skeleton keys
dangled in lieu of crystals

from the chandelier. There was only
a grand piano, and a piano seat

with its hinged lid
suggestively open—

In another, I walked
out of a desert and into a house

where the unseen owner demanded
my capture. There I sat

on an actual toilet only to know
I would be apprehended and detained

the minute I stepped out
of the bathroom. A hand slid

my ransom note under the door
then retreated. I calculated the sums

and asked myself what it all meant.
Through a skylight I glimpsed

the moon’s trapdoor receding
in the sky. Doves cooed

on the patio, their voices
muted by linen curtains.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Sacred time.

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