At Home
--Gregoire Turgeon 
Night lifts the roofs
from houses, reaches in,
pushes chairs farther
into the corners, studies people
who do not move
from room to room. 
Dreams return, spiders
back to thread the same webs
of sleep. The moist dust
of the carpenter's dream
clings to his shoes and skin.
The tailor's dream
turns itself inside out
again and again. 
The body shifts
in bed. The dream
dances in darkness.
The tongue slides in
the closed mouth
and no one is far from home.

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