Dreams:  

you can’t find your mother. 

 

A series of rooms  

one after another  

 

each smelling of urine  

and dust.  

 

And of course   

there are ghosts –  

 

you fear them like murder.  

By night, there are spiders and mice.  

 

Then sleep is a space  

with no air.   

 

It’s too hot.  

All of your words have been sucked out.  

 

The books on the shelves  

are rotten. You read them.  

 

You almost forgot that door 

and the corridor leads to outside.  

 

In the yard,  

how small you are  

 

in this rain  

you will never own.  

 

It’s all falling around your ears.  

The rabbits are still in their hutches 

 

and no-one has fed them 

for years.