I don’t know who lived there  
in this stucco house, that appeared  
to be inside out, with fireplace mantels  
under every window, and a setting sun in each pane
walls as smooth as polished stream stones  
power sockets here and there, black cords
plugged into each, all disappearing
into a mist where this abode slept    

I listened for voices
from behind the walls  
though one never hears
in a dream--at least I don’t  
people had to be there…there    
where their shadows danced
behind the fiery orbs on the black glass  
I called to them, but still could not hear
the music that drove their feet  

the suns never moved
on the panes, though the clock
hands spun  inside the house--I was sure of that  
for the shadows faded, the dancing stopped  
and whatever creatures and strangers
lived within, became part
of another’s dream