Out/Inside the Box...

...is a stutter when the lights go out,
almost inaudible behind the net curtain,
because the moon is still waiting for a second sound.

Ready for trouble, the heart of the box, is.
It purrs, whispers, does not open into silky light.

When the chime is thirteen,
and my top stair creaks of its own accord,
the box slides.

Stars repeat;
the glow has not faded in dream day.

Now the house has grown tall,
the shingles shatter on roof, red-lidded.

It is because of the river-water,
nothing moves,
nothing stays.