Time And Again

There under the stairs, hiding in the storage closet, there are clouds drifting by, and forests of deep green, and somewhere over the horizon is a castle where they hold extravagant balls and at night when the raiders come, the soldiers in the castle boil oil to spill over the ramparts onto the invaders below. Some of us prefer the solitude of the forest, with its branches to protect us. We who hide, a scattered family, avoid the roads, digging into the pungent loam. Underground is safe where we join the bones of the animals and our ancestors.