The Appling Flush

Not letting go
but embracing
and then putting
down to sleep
and keeping
sleep awake behind
the skin lifted
to a look
of my own
long worked-at
and apprehending
a grand mirage
the image
of oppor-
tunity a memory
of how it must
have been
in home
and house

of a new acquaintance with her mother
if not animals but surely there was

a garden
and room enough
to hear
I slept
in the attic
seeing The Indian
in the Cupboard
and even at that
age I thought
myself to
have illegally
attained a modicum of

interiority albeit the amorphous

heft left
and felt

fizzled moppings
of soft brown stairs

a beardless visage
plain or vacant with no

thought sounding unprofound