In a dream I find in an attic my two brothers,

And my own son, and I hear shouting,

One brother ordering other out of the attic,

Other declining,

And I wake and walk to my studio through the woods

With my flashlight, some jelly rolls, and these dream goods.

No moon, no wind. Like an attic. But where?

I run through old attics in darkness. None of them fits.

None of them has the look of the dream, nor the presence

Unnameable in it that now I have lost

On the road in the night with my jelly rolls, dream-crossed.

So I come to my desk with my mystery and sit down

And think of all beginnings in all attics

With brothers and sons there, and the shouting,

And I see that the part of dream that I couldn’t know

On the road in the night with the jelly rolls

Was I. Where did I go?