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The Castle

Rebecca Ellis

The way I remember it is different
from the way I dream it.
The memory, over years,
becomes rounded at the edges.
The moat encircling it, the water,
the sky, all the same blue
and every doorway, every window
that blue. As if entering or leaving
is really swimming
or flying.

In the dream there is no doorway,
no castle at all. I dream its absence
and stand at the vast center
in total freedom. There is
a wide and empty plain
and no way to enter or leave.