Journal » Trout 17 » Dream-skin [Anna Jackson]
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Anna Jackson

At night I put my dream-skin on,
warm and loose as the wings of my mother.

Dressed for the night I go further
than ever before from my father.

Still, the ground beneath me,
dark, the corridors,

and someone is walking behind me
opening the doors.

These are the rooms I don't look in to.
I'm like a train going past

with all my carriages lit up
and some sort of commotion

knocking about
like wings on the inside


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© Copyright 2012 Anna Jackson & Trout.