It’s amazing what takes up lodging
in dark corners of the attic of the
boarded-up past.                                
                                I prize off the planks,
surprise their glowing green eyes.                                                

Masked bandits escape, claws clicking
on the floor confess that headaches are
just bits of raccoon scat needing a broom.   

Throw open the shutters!
When air and light pour in, damp wood
aches in newness, like holding sky
in the palm of one’s hand, room enough
for giants and gods to dance.