the old house II.

there
in the darkest, dankest corner
in basement depths
imprisoned in a box of green steel
pipes and ducts from to and fro
along the ceiling
disappearing in walls and dark
bright eyes and fiery breath
seen from a tiny window in front
raging at confining walls

early in a dark december morning we rise
jack's paintings frosted on the windows
water diamonds on white
to sit cross-legged before the vents
to sit before the open vents painted into position
layers of time beyond comprehension
to bask in the comfortable warm breath
of a dragon trapped in our own basement.