i. open the door of the house envisioned you will fall through the floor you didn’t think to dream necessary, and below that, the basement never featured in fantasies. what we build, so much more than what appears. ii. dreaming of my old house reveals how i am tangled in the leap, and the net that appeared it is not below me. iii. what is that thrumming? partridge wings in a forest that will remain promise to remember, there are songs there are dancers in the forest hall. iv. sometimes a road is just a road, you don’t know how many destinations it might hold striped gravel rolling underfoot, dust groaning in the branches beyond the weedy ditch where frogs assess the vision and foundation of their watery arrival. v. i can’t wait. and then you find you did. and what had you been building in the meantime? open the door.