at this height

a dream in someone else's bed: escape the sweat of summer sun into a house I used to pay for. red brick walls and barred front windows in the shade of a chapel I've never prayed in. I'm running down the hall and losing rays of rest and relaxation to errands from a list that never ends. too much forever. a thousand failed attempts to clear the fridge into the bar across the road. I forget my clothes every time and return to a home swarming with masks of people I have loved. once familiar ghosts want to pitch a tent in the hanging gardens. others dance through the kitchen and our bedrooms with each other and children I have been. I see myself at different ages: confused, in search of flowers and new friends from the crowd of people I haven't yet loved or lost. flies on the wall for a moment of a life of time to come. the kitchen writhes in nighttime colours and the wine flows from the sink. well and truly past my bedtime. I can't reach my phone or the news from the bench at this height. we dance to laundry vibrations loud enough to shake the night.