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Questions From a Dream 

Through a hole cut in the woodwork
a cable undulates, sidewinds
into a gray SUV

where someone wearing headphones turns
knobs and levers, reeling,
reeling in as though the house

were a shirt being pulled inside out.

At my end of the wire, a plug. I ’m holding it
in my palm, imagining
a, a plastic intaglio—

something that cradles attachments.

Suppose I don’t fi nd it? The SUV is gone.
Along with the cable and plug.
What happened to the crying child?

Our houses now lean in
as though their ligaments
have been extracted.

  • A poem by Lee Gould.


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