The backyard trees woke
at night and spoke to one another
viciously. Voices came and went
as the world grew large.

I learned about myself: the way
the room decreased inside me,
hand size. It fit my eye.
Was I alone?

My sister sang
her dolls to sleep,
when mom would drive in late
from rest-home hours making car-

slam sounds in the drive, the house
made house-slam sounds
and settled down, I eased
the trees together. They laughed

into each other. The dead party
of TV noise, beds ringed
with coat-moats.
The march from cold to cars

occurred downstairs,
while I dreamed allowance
for the half-world, the world between
TV channels.

Our attic’s acres grew,
while a murmur rose in me—the one I heard—
so. I don't speak tree; but
Monkey.

The first clue was
My friend’s rich roommate
Gone

The benefactor
Goes back for his dog
It’s just a terrible storm

Royalty looking for answers
There was a seismograph

The place was totally empty
Then the crazy rain came

In a room where it couldn’t have been