Conversations in the night.
Naked fears born long past.

It’s time.

Get ready for him
to take permanent residence
behind your ribs.

Clean the area.
Sweep shattered glass
of broken reverie.

Dust the shelves
crooked under the weight
of prodding souvenirs.

Place right outside
a welcome mat
woven with threads of faith.

Write on a note
“This is home”
and post it on the door.

sit back.

And wait.

Let your guest
take the route
you wouldn’t suggest.