Joy (Fifth Attempt)

In your dream
there’s always
a door, the bones

of a different life
being colonized
by sunlit dust

in a locked room
you haven’t seen,
and in your dream

you work so hard,
anxious heart pulsing
with desire only

to see what’s possible,
the shape of a grinning
skeleton that could be

yours. You often
imagine a future night
when the dream’s door

opens, its cold fixtures
giving way at last,
and you think if only

you could glimpse
the shape of that other
existence, that could

be a form of joy to you.