Dream-skin

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…