Wounded pride; I crept to sleep to hide
And returned to the home I knew as a child.
The old place was as then
Every nook, every known creak sang silk to my soul
I heard mother, and father, and siblings, and friends,
And those gone to where I cannot dream them back.
I ‘d thought my heart hurt by the day just lived;
Far truer struck the hopes recalled
Fresh as the day first made and stored for future completion.
But as I wondered up stairs, through halls and rooms
That knew my caterpillar youth,
Something humming through walls
Something plunging through floors
Some deep sleep smell of mother’s neck,
And in the centre of the house a tree
Whose top vanished into sunlit sky.
Awake, I see:
The tree is me, earthed in that home.
The present cannot change what’s been
Or hurt the me transported back
By time-machine of dream.
I dreamed last night of the house where then dreamed the me now dreaming,
And awoke, and resumed becoming.