Dear Jared,

I woke this night from the longest dream:
Of a sunlit corridor
And a voice like home;
A patter like children's feet
Dancing off the walls from time to time,
And laughter like bells
Raucous and ringing
And tolling chiming through the floors;
The world turned on it's side then
And the voice fell away,
I woke with my chest hollow
And my heart in my hands;
Round the windows the curtains were tattered
And the clouds all cloistered, bunched;
My hands were empty and my face wind-chilled,
Pushing at the glass to let in the rain,
And I wondered long about the apple trees
Sitting alone in the storm.