First Dream in a New House

First Dream in a New House

 

Admittedly, I have not had it yet.

That particular night – that sleep –

still has miles to go. But I can hold it,

the way a bed, its army of pillows,

might hold me, cradled in a soft shell,

carried safe and low in their hands.

The dark will be absolute but for

the map of stars, scattered histories

above my head. All will be pristine,

the past muted, its anguishes still.

There will be no endless fallings

through emptiness, no loss of teeth,

nor hair, nor anything like reason,

though I will forget what reason is.

And I will be woken, a whole night older

and no more, eyes attuned to the

plush light of morning, by a queue

of tiny birds waiting at the window,

breezing their wingtips over the panes.

Robert Ford


Robert Ford's poetry has appeared in both print and online publications in the UK, US and elsewhere, including The Interpreter's House, Dime Show Review, Butcher's Dog and San Pedro River Review. More of his work can be found at https://wezzlehead.wordpress.com/