This room is breaking out,
Of itself, cracking through
Its own walls
In search of space, light,
Empty air.

The bed is lifting out of
Its nightmares
From dark corners, chairs
Are rising up to crash through clouds.

This is the time and place
To be alive:
When the daily furniture of our lives
Stirs, when the improbable arrives.
Pots and pans bang together
In celebration, clang
Past the crowd of garlic, onions, spices,
Fly by the ceiling fan.
No one is looking for the door.
In all this excitement
I’m wondering where
I’ve left my feet, and why

My hands are outside, clapping.