There are dreams in here
among the dust
that hiss like secrets,
quiet and ashamed,
ginger colored ashes
spread across the floor.
I remember we had
plans
for these spaces
a darkroom, a studio
and I clear electronics
from the stained ancient wood.
Airplane skeletons
and ghosts in the dark of the basement.
They said the storms would come
at night
they said the rain
would fall angelic
and grace the autumn blossoms.
And I hear the thunder rolling
long past midnight
from my wild haunted home.
