The house beyond the fog.
In this strange ambience.
I'm glad I snuck into this dream.
Even for just one hour.

I can't tell if its evening or early hour.
Perhaps a fall early evening or just a cool spring morning.
Crisp was the air as if lonely ghost had their arms around me.
Guiding me toward the house beyond the fog.

The grey wood porch had sleeping shadows.
Dormant umbra dreams of light that cast them.
In the candlelight they loved to dance.
Sleeping sentinels welcome me in.  

I open the green door in.
The sun now riding high revealed it to be morning behind me.
My grandmother who had been dead for 32 years made me breakfast.  
Was this her home in heaven?

I've conjured a clone
More successful, more attractive, more lively than me.
Taking them into my home,
I feed and take care of them, I polish their bolts and bits.
How I wish my bones could shine silver like their aluminum ribs.
I dream of being as productive and managing,
As talented, daring
Motivated, driven.
I sometimes get the urge to peek under my skin to search for foil bones,
But I crave more than the cold sensation of chrome.
   Tell me,
   Why do I feel this way?
   If I'm machine,
   Where will I go when you die?
   Where will I stay?
My dear friend, I do not have answers, I only have more questions for us to ponder.
However, I believe when I lay down to sleep
Your engine turns off,
And your gears stop turning.
When this happens do you imagine a dream?
Or do you imagine you are living?