This one attempts to make tangible that which is not.
I’ve let the horses
meander through the house.
All night, they graze, munching
on the living room carpet
and the potpourri in its glass bowl,
choking air with earth and spice.
Sparrows, painted on plates
secured to the dining room wall,
flutter their wings, frenzy near
the book shelves,
pecking letters split for pages
etched with poetry,
dictionaries heavy with ideas.
So soon, the sun begins to rise.